Hotel California Part II A Physicist A Lyricist
by RedtoBlue
Summary: 1985, the Year of the Spy. The CIA and KGB clash in the last showdown as the Soviet system enters its final years. Deception is the name of the game, and it permeates every aspect of Jack Twist's life—secrets to keep, secrets to find. And one to give away. And as Fate would have it, to the most improbable person in Moscow. Part II
1. Chapter 1

**Pairing:** Jack/Ennis

**Genre: **AU/AU, anti-spy fiction, romance

**Warnings:** this is not a thriller or even a real action story (please see the genre). Mature subject, some adult situations (not many), bad language. WIP (appx 1/3 written).

**Disclaimer: **the names of the two key characters are not mine. I am just borrowing them to create a different world with different dreams, because they are beautiful!

Comments and feedback would be most appreciated.

* * *

_- 1 -_

_**Journal 7, 1985.**_

_July 6, Saturday. Midnight. Almost._

_A busy day today: rehearsals for the Festival, concert at the uni. Dinner at the House of Actor: Anya, Lara, Anton, Grisha, Seva and the rest of the Wings boys. And him. Jack from California._

_Was it a joke? Must be a ruse of some sort because it couldn't be real. Not possible! This is life, not some Crimson Sails1 reality. This kind of things doesn't happen in real life! I'm 21 and a physicist. I know for sure: fairytales don't exist in reality._

_What am I doing anyway? I'm NOT going to write another Dear Jack journal. Because he is NOT "Jack from California"._

_Alright, he is. But not that Jack. And so, I'm NOT going to write to HIM._

_What I'm going to do is I'll go to bed now and forget all about this foolishness in the morning._

_Said no to Karelin again today. He's like a bulldog: grabs at your throat and won't let go. He and Lara, both. Told them three times already: we're not playing in his show. Why doesn't he let me be? So I sing and make my own music, so what? I'm still a physicist. Must be._

_..._

_July 7, Sunday. 1:05 a.m._

_How can anyone's eyes be that blue?_

_The color of the winter sky on a sunny day — clear and bottomless. Dizzying._

_The color of the cornflower field we were taken to last summer. Mesmerizing._

_..._

_July 7, Sunday. 11 p.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_Don't know why I'm writing this._

_No, I know why. Because I wrote a similar diary when I was a kid. What I'm not sure is why I'm addressing it to you. You are not Jack I used to write to. That person doesn't exist. He was just a boy dreamt up by me when I was nine._

_That was when I told my father I didn't want to write my English diary to him anymore._

_Why writing a diary to someone and why in English? That was how Father tried to teach me English. He spoke to me strictly in English. When I went to school, he gave me an expensive looking diary and asked me to write to him in it every day. About my friends, my days and what I learnt at school. He would then read it and correct mistakes on Saturdays when I came to stay with him for a day. On Sunday mornings Grandma would come to take me back home. I would take my dairy with me and write in it during the week. Father gave me a new one every year. I think Mother may still have them all, somewhere at the dacha. _

_And so when I was nine, I told Father that I wanted to write my journal to someone else. To a friend. He said fair enough, told me to pick up someone I wanted to write to. Tom Sawyer, for example. I thought about it, but discarded the idea: Tom had Huck for a friend. I didn't want to be the third, odd one out. The only thing I was sure about was I wanted my friend to be from California._

_I spent a few days mulling over a name. I was thinking of Johnny, Bobby or Jimmy, but couldn't decide which one to choose. I decided to ask my mother for help._

_For me, she was the second person after Father who knew the most about the 'far away and mysterious America' (that's how I thought about it). Back then, Mother still lived in her separate universe most of the time, one filled with books with their fictional worlds. It was Grandma and Varvara Petrovna, our helper, who looked after me mostly._

_After school I went to see her in our study room. I found her making notes in a book, with several others lying open around her typewriter. She was doing her post graduate dissertation at that time, on contemporary American literature. The book she was reading was covered in little white paper markers sticking out from between the pages. There was a name printed in big letters on its cover over a portrait of a handsome man smoking a cigarette –Jack Kerouac. Other books on the desk were also either about him or by him. So I asked her if Jack was her favorite American name nowadays. I remember her staring at me for a long while and me thinking that perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to ask Mother that question. But then she smiled at me and said yes, it was her second favorite American name, after 'Ennis'. Her smile was sad, though. And I decided then that my friend's name would be Jack. God only knows why, but I thought that if I had a friend name Jack, it would somehow cheer her up a little._

_That was how Jack from Calif. came about. Silly, I know. But, hey, I was only nine. The following Saturday when Father took me to his place, I told him I'd write my diary to Jack from Calif. Because that was where Father was from, so I wanted my friend to be from there, too. Like he and his friend Martin Hamilton he kept telling me about. Father didn't say anything, only nodded. And so I started writing to Jack._

_About my parents. They divorced when I was five._

_One day, Mother picked me up from the kindergarten and we went to live with her parents in a large apartment in the downtown district of Chistye Prudy. Father stayed in our old three-room apartment in Beliaevo, on the southern fringe of the city where the three of us had lived._

_I never understood why she did that. She continued loving him, even after he died when I was twelve. She cried often that year, at night. In the morning she would try to hide her swollen eyes and we would pretend that we didn't notice. I think she was heartbroken because he did not love her as much as she had loved him. She said he drank a lot._

_He didn't drink when I visited him, though. He was never drunk when I stayed with him — not till after his friend Martin (who lived in Leningrad) died. Something broke in Father after that and he was not the same ever again. That's when he started drinking hard. I think he missed Calif. badly. Talked about it often. About the time he and Martin used to live in Calif. and would go camping in the forest, riding horses in the mountains or fishing in a forest lake... His stories were beautiful, like fairytale. I still remember names of the places he talked about: Six Rivers, Marble Mountain, Aspen Lake, Sun Pass... Somehow his tales got under my skin._

_Now about you. Or rather about me again: I wouldn't have thought of inviting you to our dacha, if not for Lara. My brain was on vacation yesterday: all I could think about for the entire evening was how one's eyes could be that blue. On top of the fact that they belonged to a Jack from Calif. Totally surreal!_

_Now I'll have to break the news to Mother and Grandfather – that I have invited an Am. guest to our dacha. Grandfather should be fine: he likes foreigners, especially from the West. Not Mother though. I don't look forward to when she learns that you are from Calif.. And from the Am. embassy, too._

_She's been avoiding Am-s as long as I remember. Perhaps ever since the divorce. She accepted not one invitation to conferences when she learnt that there would be Am. delegates attending. She even turned down a trip to Am. once, an exchange program organized by the Writers Union. So, yes, she will find an excuse to be absent this Saturday, I'm sure._

_I wish Anton would stop asking you about Calif. all the time. I don't want to hear about it anymore. Don't want to hear **you **talking about it!_

_E._

_12:37a.m._

_The last thing above isn't true. But, God, please help me not to make a fool of myself in front of him!_

_July 9, Tuesday. Midnight._

_Told Mother today. As expected, the moment I told her that you're Am., her face shut down, her eyes became distant, and she suddenly recalled that she had promised her friend Valya to come and help her with her doctorate dissertation. On a Saturday? I give up._

_I'm not going to tell Lara that Mother isn't coming to the dacha, though. She'll be upset. Sometimes Lara acts like she is in love with Mother. But then Lara is like that with almost anyone she likes. Last Saturday she behaved like you were her boyfriend. As far as I know, she was seeing you for the second time. Don't get me wrong: Lara is a good person and a great friend. It's just that she is rather expansive with her feelings at times._

_E._

_..._

_July 11, Thursday. 10:10 p.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_You must have heard in the news today: Rainbow Warrior of the Greenpeace was bombed last night near atoll Moruroa in Polynesia. The French were planning to test their nuclear warheads underground of the atoll and the ship was out there, protesting. Our newspapers point fingers at the French gov. Barbarians! They were just a bunch of civilians, for God's sake!_

_On the other hand, if it was our gov. testing the nuclear arms, one would have been issued a one-way ticket to gulag for even thinking of protesting._

_What would be your 'choice': being blown to bits in a blazing second or being sent to rot in the cold solitude of snow-blanketed plains?_

_I wonder what your newspapers say._

_E._

_..._

_July 12, Friday. Midnight._

_Grandfather isn't joining us tomorrow after all: he's been invited to some big shot's from the Academy of Sciences. He couldn't say no. Hope you won't be offended by having a bunch of students hosting you. Varvara Petrovna, our help, will come to prepare the lunch for us. I 'm driving her to dacha early tomorrow morning. Anya, too — she volunteered to help when she learned that Mother wasn't coming._

_Lara says it's been decided not to broadcast LiveAid on TV tomorrow. F...! I wish they showed at least some sets, a few songs, something! This is so stupid! How could we not join the event? It is for the people of Africa, for heaven's sake!_

_You said you liked our concert. I'm glad. Obviously, it wasn't in the same league with the bands that will be performing for LiveAid. Not even close to some of our local rock-bands. Like Aquarium or Machina Vremeny, for example. But we love making music too and play the best we can. Friends say HC is the best foreign song cover in my repertoire. I think so, too. Hope you weren't just being polite when you said you "loved it"._

_Love is such a strong word._

_E._

_..._

_July 14, Sunday. 11:15 p.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_Don't know where to start. These last two days... Seeing you, talking to you... You're just like him! Just like I imagined him – Jack from Calif., the little cowboy. Or was it you that I imagined? Don't know which one of you anymore. How can it be? Inconceivable!_

_I've found the old journals I wrote when I was a kid. Took me a while to find them: they were buried under heaps of old magazines, in one of the dusty boxes in the attic at the dacha. Good that I didn't read them right then, or I'd have been acting anti-social. Like staring. Or blurting something stupid. Happens to me all the time when I'm distracted. Or confused._

_I took the journals home and read them last night. Till half past three in the morning. Then I found the postcard between the pages of the third journal. I sat there staring at it for... I don't know how long. I could not believe my eyes: it was you, Jack T. from California. It must be how you looked when you were eleven or twelve. The only difference was the color of the eyes: they are brown in the postcard, not the incredible color of blue like in reality._

_I still remember the first time I saw the postcard. It was the same year I told Father I wanted to write my journal to Jack from California._

_A colleague of Grandfather's came back from an exchange trip in Am. and brought Grandma a small present — a pamphlet and a collection of postcards. They were from an art exhibition they had visited. I remember him telling us about the artist — Nikolai Feshin2 (not Fechin like the brochure says), a Russian living in America. Grandfather's friend lamented that we, his compatriots, didn't know much about the artist and his astounding work. That was when I first laid my eyes on the postcard._

_It was a reproduction of one of Feshin's paintings. In it was a dark-haired, tan-skinned boy, in a white shirt and blue jeans, wearing a straw hat and a red kerchief around his neck, a horse tack in his hand. It's called "Little Cowboy". And I told myself that it was the portrait of my friend Jack._

_God, this is so silly! I'm a grown-up man and still talk like a nine-year-old about... someone who doesn't exist. Never existed! It's totally ridiculous. Laughable!_

_But what about you, Jack? YOU exist: I've seen you. I talked to you. I shook hands with you. You brought cigarettes as a present for me: Marlboro red. My favorite. From now on._

_So you do exist. In the form that exceeds my imagination._

_I want to be friends with you. I want you to tell me about your Calif.._

_E._

_..._

_July 15, Monday. 11:30 p.m._

_Newspapers carried news today about a diplomat from the Am. embassy being caught red-handed spying. Bet you know him– someone like you must know lots of people. Did you know he was with the intelligence service?_

_I bet you have lots of friends. Gregarious, easygoing. Captivating. Like you're sparkling when you smile. My friends keep talking about you. Lara is smitten by you and doesn't even try to hide it. Anya is the only person who seems cautious about you for some reason. Ha, she is our young commissar and doesn't trust Westerners. She told us today to be cautious with you as you might also be a spy. Seva laughed and told her to relax: it's hard to believe that an Am. spy would be spending his time with a bunch of Sov. students. He's right. And spies do not smile and laugh like that. In my opinion._

_Here's a small poem by Andrei V. that I translated some time ago, before I met you (called A Rus.—Am. Romance3)._

_In my land and yours they hit the hay_

_and sleep the whole night in the same way._

_There's a Moon with golden shine._

_That lightens your land and so does mine._

_And for the same price, meaning for free,_

_there's sunrise for you and sunset for me._

_And if the wind is cold at the break of a day,_

_It's neither your fault nor is mine, anyway._

_And behind your sham and behind my lies_

_The pain and love for our homelands we hide._

_And so I wish in our lands, some day,_

_We shall put all idiots out of the way._

_Told Karelin today that we would sing in his rock-opera at the festival. It's about Calif.. Hope you'll like it. If you come to our performance like you said you would._

_Will you come?_

_E._

_..._

_July 18, Thursday. 11:00 p.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_I've been sitting here for ten minutes already, trying to come up with something consequential to say. My brain keeps replaying our conversation on the telephone this morning. Mostly two things:_

_1) you are the coordinator of our NW exchange program (what kind of strange coincidence is this?); and_

_2) we're going to see Bob D's concert. (Wonder why Lara never mentioned it? She's usually very good at getting tickets for this kind of events)._

_It means I we'll see more of you. Soon._

_About . Or rather the way I talked to you this morning when you asked about him. Please don't be offended. We have specifically been told by the dean's office not to talk about his disappearance, esp. with the Berkeley team. But how? He worked at Pr. Ackerman's lab last year. Of course they'll ask about him! I don't see how we're going to NOT talk to them about it. It's stupid even trying._

_I didn't tell you, but I think he's defected to the West. I don't blame him. I think his NW model was the last straw: it didn't produce the results expected from him. But that's only half of the matter. The other half is that he truly believed that his model was correct. I, too, think he was is right._

_E._

_..._

_July 20, Saturday. 5min. to midnight._

_You just called._

_I gave you my number just 2 days ago and didn't expect you'd call so soon. So I was caught by surprise: dropped the soldering iron on the floor, sounded rude. Mother says I always behave and sound 'anti-social' when I'm out of my element._

_I don't know why you make me feel out of my element._

_That's not true. I know why: I want to see you again. I need to see you. To talk to you. To find out if you are **the** Jack who I imagined was my friend. I know it's childish and doesn't make any sense. But I can't help it._

_Hope you'll be back from your business trip in time for the Bob D's concert. I'll keep your ticket for you. Will meet you at the gate of the stadium._

_E._

_..._

_July 27, Saturday. 0:25 a.m._

_You didn't show up in the end. It upset me so much that I almost didn't enjoy the concert. (Which was not exactly a concert, but a poetry night, with some BD numbers thrown in). But then I came home and found your message on my auto-response machine. And it was like a mountain off my shoulders._

_Things seem to affect me in an odd way these days: even the smallest of the details are blown out of proportion, like through an enormous magnifying glass — things, sounds, colors, words, senses, feelings..._

_I'll call you in the morning, before I leave for the Festival opening._

_E._

_..._

_July 30, Tuesday. 11:47 p.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_So glad you came to our forum at MGU this morning. I saw you right away. You looked briefly around, but didn't notice me, so at first I thought you were avoiding me. You looked – I don't know – distracted, perhaps? So it took me a long time before I made up my mind and followed you out into the corridor._

_You were sitting there on the windowsill, smoking. Then, the moment I saw you smiling at me, I knew I had been an idiot. Don't even know why I'd thought you didn't want to see me. Don't think I've ever seen such a smile on anybody before._

_Russians don't know how to smile, in general, but I in particular. I wish I could express what I feel. Just like you. Never been good at that. So I try to express myself through actions. Through music. Sometimes through poetry that I don't show anyone. Ha! Great way of expressing oneself, is it not?_

_Back to this morning, we talked for almost half an hour. In English too._

_I lost my speech when you said we should speak English, just you and I, because it's different. How on earth could you know? Hope you didn't think I didn't want to. Because it's the complete opposite! God, Jack, I've been talking in English to you since I was nine! Of course I would, cowboy, just between you and me!_

_Then you asked me about the NW theory and various research programs. I gave you the gist of it._

_What I didn't tell is that it's not one of my favorite topics. Mainly because I don't fully agree with the version of the model we're running. For once Grandfather doesn't want any debate about it. He tells us to do it that way and no questions. Don't remember another time when he was so dictatorial in running a research program._

_Perhaps I shouldn't have joined his laboratory. But then, it's the only prospect for me to be on a research program that has an exchange component with Am-s. And may include a trip to America._

_Besides, what other justifiable rationale did I have to say no to the other offer? A senior researcher position at a closed institute in Dubna? I don't want to work there. I'll never be able to travel to Am. if I work there. Not with my heritage._

_Jack, I want to visit Calif. one day._

_I wish you could show me your Calif. One day._

_E._

_..._

_July 31, Wednesday. Midnight._

_Tomorrow is the gala concert at the Soviet Club. I feel so anxious. So tense. It's not like I never performed on stage. It's just the same singing, with a little more acting involved, that's all. So what's the problem?_

_Perhaps it's because of Karelin's costumes. They are... different. And his staging is peculiar. They make me feel... like I'm exposing the side of me that people don't know. Shouldn't know. It's none of their business._

_But his rearrangement of the classical pieces is extraordinary. I'll be lying if I don't admit that he's a great director. His shows make you think, but think differently. He defies the standard, the tradition, the belief. The norm. Doesn't it make him a genius?_

_The only thing is I wish he'd keep his glances and allusions to himself. Or I will punch him in the face one day. I will, honestly!_

_To hell with Karelin._

_Hope you'll like the show. It's about a love story between one of my ancestors, Count Rezanov, and a Californian girl. She waited for him for 33 years._

_Mother continued loving Father long after he died, even if she denies it._

_I wonder how long I'd love a someone, if I meet that one person who's right for me._

_E._

_..._

_August 2, Friday. After midnight. So technically it is August 3, Saturday._

_Just got back from the closing of the Festival._

_I've never seen anything like that! So grandiose, so inspiring and uplifting that by the final chords everybody was hugging and kissing those standing next to them. Many people were crying._

_I wish you were there with us._

_Alright, I'll say it: I wish you were there **with me** and I could hug you, too. A friendly hug._

_That's not true, either, isn't it? Because it isn't just a friendly hug from you that I want. It's to hold you that I crave. I close my eyes and I can feel how your body fills my arms, all hard muscles and strength. I feel your stubble grazing my cheek, your breath warming the side my neck, your heartbeat against mine. And I know in that moment I'll lose myself. To you. Even if I know I'm not someone you'll ever want._

_Lara said yesterday that you weren't well after our concert. That's why you left. I was disappointed you didn't stay, but that's alright, I understand. Hope you've recovered by now._

_2:15 a.m._

_How on earth has it come to this? From you being someone I met just 4 weeks ago, to you being my friend Jack from Calif., my Little Cowboy, without you even suspecting it. And now this: I'm thinking about you almost every minute I'm awake, I dream about you at night. And I want to touch you so much my fingers ache and I can't seem to get enough air in my lungs._

_I want to touch your beautiful face, your smiling lips, your powerful neck; to put my hands on your shoulders, your chest, over your heart._

_I know it's never to happen. Because you're not like me._

_Why I'm like this — flawed? Perhaps I was born with an array of skills and small talents to compensate for the fact that I'm flawed. In one key aspect that undermines my entire being as a man. I'm still a man, just not the kind this society accepts. But then there are lots of things this society doesn't accept. Heavy metal rockers, for example._

_I didn't realize I was this way till I was eighteen. It was when I started having dreams about someone I met at a boxing championship._

_Before that, men in my dreams were not real people from my everyday life. One was a cowboy on a cigarettes ad in a foreign magazine (yes, a cowboy again). Another one was Timothy S. of the Eagles (by the way, he is from Sacramento, Calif.). Ha! I even dreamed of Dean R. in his roles as a 'good' cowboy in German westerns, for a short period of time. But they were always men from some faraway lands. so I thought that I thought nothing of it – they were just childish dreams in which I wanted to be like them. So I thought._

_Then I met B. He was nineteen, on the junior boxing team from Leningrad Univ. I ended up against him in the semi-finals. And I started thinking about him and having "that" kind of dreams about him._

_It scared me so much that I floored the poor guy in three rounds. Despite the fact that he was heavier than me, perhaps more technically skillful. After that I took to drinking. Because then dreams stopped haunting me. They kicked me out of the boxing team after 2 fighting incidents. In the last one I broke someone's nose. I admit I deserved it. They should have left me for a few days at the militzia station, too._

_This "issue" with me, they call it a mental sickness. I don't believe it is. I know I'm sane and my mind is astute enough to come up with fairly complex applied nuclear physics models. I spent two years on the last one, partly to prove to myself that I was mentally healthy. But this craving is perhaps some sort of physiological flaw, nevertheless. Perhaps that's why some of the men who are rumored to have this "sickness" are so brilliant (Karelin is one of them): nature has given them that genius to compensate for the inherent flaw of the flesh._

_So that year, after B., I understood that my dreams were not childish dreams about the kind of man I wanted to be. That I dreamed of men I wanted to be with. And I realized it wasn't something I could share with anyone I knew. Perhaps not with anyone ever._

_Hiding it hasn't been too hard – I have plenty of experience: it's not dissimilar to not telling anyone about my friend Jack from Calif. Or that I knew English better than any English teacher at school. Father told me that being different wasn't a good idea in this country, that I should try to be like everybody else. I think he'd learnt it hard way and tried to make it easier for me. I thought the "different" part of me was related to him, because he didn't fit. Until I realized what my "difference" was. Sometimes I wonder if Father knew._

_So, no, it isn't particularly hard. Just lonely sometimes._

_Then once in a while, I wish I could talk about it with someone. But who? Grandfather wouldn't even want to hear about it, I'm certain. Mother will probably disown me, like she did Father, for the reasons I will never know._

_And you. I don't even know if you'd still want to be my friend Jack and if I should write to you after my admission. What I know for sure is that I'm not going to tell you in reality. Like I won't tell any of my other friends._

_Except that it's so hard with you. It's almost painful to have you standing close, to see your smile, to bask in your friendliness and not being able to stretch my hand out and touch you. But if I touch you, I think I'll go insane with wanting more._

_I better stay away from you._

_Please, I beg you, don't be offended if I behave rudely with you! I don't mean it! I just can't help it. Especially with you. Because I want to hold you so much!_

_There, I've said it._

_E._

_..._

_August 4, Sunday. 10:10 p.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_Tomorrow we'll be meeting with the Berkeley team for the first time (except Grandfather who met with Prof. Ackerman before). I look forward to it. Hope you'll come, too. You're the coordinator from the Am. side after all. Hope you won't notice how ill at ease I feel in your company. I'll try my best to be 'sociable'._

_Lara called just now. She said a heat wave was forecasted for the end of the week and we should all go to the countryside for the weekend. She talked to Anya already and Anya is all for it, too. Fine – if the two of them have made up their minds, there's no point in arguing. She also said that she wants to invite you to come with us, but Anya was against it._

_Our Anya doesn't trust Westerners, especially Am. Although, I have to say, she's changed her mind about you after the Festival. Perhaps because you introduced her to Dean R. at the Festival and talk to her about him. He's been her hero since she was little. Ha! Perhaps she and I are best friends because I used to talk to her about Dean R. when we were young teens. I used to have dreams about him, too. Of which I didn't tell her, of course._

_Anyway, Anya is against inviting you. Perhaps she's right: you may have more interesting things to do that spend your weekend with a bunch of students. Our wise Anya._

_I wish you could come with us to Istra. It is a beautiful place. Trully Russian. I think you'd have liked it._

_E._

_..._

_August 5, Monday. 8:30 p.m._

_I invited you to come with us to Istra._

_I did it on impulse. You wanted to invite us to your place this weekend and looked disappointed when I told you we had other plans. So I blurted it out. And only started breathing again when you said you'd love to join us._

_However, there's a problem now: travel permit. I completely forgot that foreigners need permits to be able travel to other cities. And I don't know how diplomats get theirs!_

_Another thought: will it look strange if I ask someone (who?) to help with a travel permit for you alone? A diplomat spending a weekend with a bunch of students in a countryside. Will it look strange? Sh...!_

_10:07 p.m._

_I have a solution: we shall invite the Berkeley group (and you!) to the countryside for the weekend. It's in the plan for the exchange project anyway, for sometime in September. Why not earlier?_

_Called Grandfather. He said it was a good idea. He had thought to invite them to our dacha this weekend, but I told him Istra was better. He agreed. Will ask the girls at the lab to apply for travel permits first thing tomorrow morning._

_Called Lara, too, and asked if her mother could help with booking rooms for the group at the dom otdykha (the vacation home I told you; it belongs to the Min. of Culture). Also asked if her father's office could help to expedite the approval of the travel permits, too. She was very pleased when she learned that you were coming with us. She promised to help. She will: you can rely on Lara to get what she wants. Great thing about Lara is that she always helps friends in need._

_She was thrilled when I told her about the guys in the Berkeley group. Lara loves it when there are men surrounding her – she reigns them like a true Cleopatra. I think Seva, Anton and I are the only men she likes that she hasn't tried to subjugate. Yet!_

_Hope she'll like Val and leave you alone._

_Don't go after her, Jack, she will break your heart. She is a good friend, but she also has a major flaw: she must have all men she likes. (Even Karelin!) And I know she likes you. A lot._

_Don't know what I'll do to her if she breaks your heart!_

_Don't even want to think that she'll get to you! Don't let her, Jack, don't let her!_

_E._

_11:55 p.m._

_Don't know what it is with me – I feel so nervous. Restless is the word. Pray to God we get the permits and you'll come with us. As I said, it is a beautiful place, truly Russian. The villagers are permitted to keep old traditions alive. So that a few can enjoy them. Sad, isn't it?_

_Last year a man from the village took us to an amazing place in the forest. Vasil'kovy lug – a cornflower field. The wild grass and flowers grew so thick that it looked like one enormous carpet. And the color of the flowers was so strikingly blue that we stood with our mouths open for a long time._

_They were the same color as your eyes._

_E._

_..._

_August 7, Wednesday. After midnight._

_Dear Jack,_

_I'm sorry I didn't have any news for you at the welcome dinner tonight. Please believe me, I'm more anxious to get them for you than you are: for you, perhaps it is just a weekend trip to the countryside with a group of friends acquaintances; for me, it is it feels like something so important that I want it more than anything!_

_I called Lara earlier. She was fairly certain the permits would be ready by tomorrow afternoon. She had made her father call"Uncle Fedya" at the Min. of Interior for help. Sometimes Lara can go overboard with getting what she wants. But this time, I'm deeply thankful that she is like she is._

_This makes me a hypocrite, doesn't it?_

_So be it, I don't care! I just want you to come with us!_

_E._

_..._

_August 7, Wednesday. 10:05 p.m._

_Got the permits! You're coming with us!_

_Jack, I am so_

_10:20p.m._

_You just called._

_It was a short call, but now I'm worried. Something was not quite right: you sounded tired. Or like you gave up. You said you were jogging and stopped to catch your breath. But you sounded like you were... Doubtful, perhaps?_

_Maybe it's because of the travel permits. You said you never seen anything being done here that fast. I agree, it was very fast. Is it what has made you suspicious? What do you think? What exactly do you think happened here?_

_I know why: you think the organs are involved. Perhaps you think we work for the organs – who else can get travel permits in 2 days, right? After all you are an Am. I'm certain you have been told to be vigilant about our omnipresent organs. Even we have to be. Perhaps we have to be even more so because we don't have diplomatic immunity like you. You can get out of here, anytime. We can't. Anyone of us is vulnerable. Except maybe Lara._

_Jack, don't be concerned about us working for the organs. We don't. I believe my friends don't work for the organs._

_I have to believe it._

_E._

_Midnight._

_36 hours before we meet at the hotel._

_I wish I could do something to relax._

_I wish I kept vodka at home. I don't anymore: I have learnt my lesson. But sometimes I wish I did. Like now. To stop thinking about you, about how I will see you for 3 whole days, everyday; how I will sit next to you, talk to you, walk in the forest and swim in the lake with you._

_No, swimming with you isn't such a good idea. I'll go crazy and do something stupid if I see you unclothed. The way I see you when I close my eyes: smooth, sun-caressed skin under my hands, broad chest and shoulders against mine, powerful arms and legs encircling me. And above me, two lakes of astonishing blue. Like the color of those cornflowers – ragged pieces of the bluest of the skies._

_I know you are not like that. I know it's just a fantasy, never to happen, except in my dreams. Always in my hopeless dreams._

_I have to find a way to take you to the cornflower field. But first I need to check up if they are in bloom now. Pray to God that they are!_

_It will be my present to you, cowboy._

_Yours always, E._

* * *

Notes:

1 "Crimson Sails" or "Scarlet Sails", a romantic tale by Russian writer Alexander Grin (1880-1932). It tells the story of an out-cast girl who meets a traveler. He predicts that one day a prince will arrive on a ship ablaze with crimson sails to take her away to his homeland. The novella is a classic that continues to be one of the most well-known and best-loved works among Russians.

2 Nicolai Ivanovich Fechin (1881–1955) was a Russian-American painter known for his portraits and works featuring Native Americans.

3 'A Russian–American Romance' is a poem by Andrei Voznesensky (1933 – 2010), a Soviet and Russian poet and writer who had been referred to as "one of the greatest living poets in any language." (from Wikipedia).

* * *

Soundtrack: It's My Life, by Jon Bon Jovi (Unplugged version)


	2. Chapter 2

_- 2 -_

_August 11, Sunday. 10 minutes to midnight._

_Dear Jack,_

_I won't be able to sleep tonight again. Have hardly slept for the last 3 nights._

_The 3 days and 2 nights that I'll hold in my memory forever, like a precious gift: the 3 days and 2 nights when you unraveled my body and set me free. You showed me how it feels to be true to my true self. I never knew it could feel like that. I never thought that **I** could feel like **that**! I would have never known, if it was not for you. For this I'm grateful._

_And you! I never imagined, not even in my wildest dreams, that you were—would want me. All I had to do was ask and you gave it yourself to me. The way I had painted only in the roughest of brush strokes in my imagination. I had never thought I would ask someone something like that. Never even used such words before. Except in my head. But I felt feel I can tell you anything, in any form, and you will accept it. Let me be myself, without judging._

_It must be Fate. How else to explain the fact that you have been in my thoughts, in my dreams for so many years to now come to be with me in person. For me to give myself to and to hold you in my arms. For me to love you._

_There, I have said it. I love you, my blue cornflower, my vasil'yok._

_E._

_...  
_

_August 12, Monday. 2:00 a.m._

_Can't stop thinking about the things you we did. Never imagined one could do that to you with their tongue, their fingers, just by whispering of what they want, what they feel... There was a moment I thought I was going to die — of all the sensations and feelings that kept swelling in me, to the heart breaking point. How can someone do that to you? I hope I gave you back a fraction of what you gifted me with._

_But then there's this sickening notion that won't let me be either. It's relentless, poisoning all my memories about what we had. That you were so skillful, so confident in what you were doing. 'Practiced' is the word. You've done it before. With others. Perhaps not even one..._

_Stop it, stupid, just stop it! Don't want to think about it anymore! Because if I keep going like this, I'll break something. Hit someone._

_I'm sorry._

_...  
_

_August 12, Monday. 10:27p.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_I still can't believe what happened between us. That you're like me. No, not flawed. Different, like me. And that you were with me! That you gave me what I thought I could never have. Not now, when I have what is left of my family to consider. Not here, where I don't know if I can trust strangers with my secret. Ha! I can't even trust my childhood friends with my secret, let alone strangers!_

_Yet, I trust you. You (the real you) are still a stranger. Yet, it feels like I've known you for ages. It seems everything about you is almost exactly how I've imagined it, sometimes even more: you lived on a ranch in Calif; you love horses and can ride one without a saddle; you know all about ranching and farming; you know about Russian history, literature and culture, and we can talk about anything like we did in the past; you even had a puppy dog (doesn't matter that his name was Ace, not Buddy). And you continue telling me that I should sing more because I'm good at it. You always told me that whenever I had doubts – when Mother would say she wanted me to be a scientist, not a long-haired rocker. She doesn't like them (as if she knows them!), thinks they will ruin me and my career. A career I don't want._

_I shall sing more. I shall sing my own songs. For you, cowboy._

_And I shall be the physicist that my family wants me to be. I can do both._

_E._

_P.S.: Tomorrow I'm leaving with Grisha, Seva and a couple of other guys for shabashka (paid construction work) in a sovkhoz not far from Tula. We will be away for a month. Last summer we worked there for almost a month too and each was paid 800 rubles. In addition to lodging (in a hay shack) and food. Not bad, isn't it? That's almost 3 times what Grandfather makes and more than 4 times what Mother makes a month. I'll buy a new guitar and give mine to Sashka, the boy at Anton's dorm. The kid will starve to death trying to save most of his meager stipend for an old professional guitar._

_I'll call you tomorrow evening before I leave for the train station._

_...  
_

_August 13, Tuesday. 9:05 p.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_I understand now what Mara meant when she said that what she had with that other man was greater than love; that it was Fate. I can see now that she was right when she said I would only understand it when I met the one for me._

_I'm surprised I didn't realize it earlier – everything about you is so obvious that you are the one. I should have recognized it earlier, even before I discovered that you like things were like me. But you have always been my best friend and I would have loved you even if you weren't. Even if I know we can never be together. Even if I know you will leave this country forever one day. Even if you don't share my feelings. I'm sure you don't. Because for you I'm just someone you met a month ago. Just a student in a group of students you coordinate._

_Does it make me weak? Pathetic?_

_I don't care! I'll take with gratitude whatever you can give–your friendship, your hand, your smile. Maybe your body and your lips sometimes? And that soft light I saw fleetingly in your eyes that day in the cornflower field._

_You friend forever, E._

_10:05p.m._

_Called you twice, but you weren't home. I feel bad leaving for a month without letting you know. I regret that I didn't tell you over the weekend. What if you call me when I'm away? You may think that I'm avoiding you after what happened. Please don't! I want to see you, to be with you more than you'll ever know!_

_I should have called you yesterday. I regret I didn't._

_Have to go now. I'll call again from the train station. I won't be able to call from theplace we are going. Sorry._

_Yours always. E._

_...  
_

_September 12, Thursday. 10 a.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_Just returned from Tula about an hour ago and got your message on my auto-response machine. Have listened to it ten times. You didn't say much, but at least I heard your voice. I thought my heart would burst out of my chest. God, I've never felt like this before! How does one deal with this without doing something stupid?_

_We've done very well this time: each got 1,000 rubles. Hadn't expected to get that much. On the down side, I won't be able to play guitar for a while: have rubbed my fingers raw mixing cement and laying bricks a month long. But then I got some ideas about the piece of music I'm going to write. A short rock-opera. About nuclear war. Or what would happen if it happens._

_I've been thinking about the question you asked the time we talked about NW at the MGU: climatic effects of nuclear winter aside, what about all the people at those bombing sites in the nuclear exchange we're modeling? What will happen to them?_

_I'm deeply shamed that I had never paused to ask myself this question before. I focused only on the details of the mathematical models, the assumptions, the temperature distribution, the climatic and environmental consequences of such a nuclear exchange. These are the key components of our research. I know, this is not a worthy excuse. You're a thousand times right – people, human livesshould be the focus of any research related to the use of nuclear arms._

_It only proves that I'm a callous, superficial person. And you, cowboy, you are a humanitarian._

_I'll call you in the evening. Perhaps we can meet somewhere. Perhaps we can..._

_E._

_Midnight._

_Called you twice. You were not at home. Perhaps you are out of the country on a business trip again. Called Lara. She hadn't talked to you in a while, too, and didn't know if you were in town._

_I didn't expect that I'd want to see you this much. It has caught me completely by surprise, even scared me. Somehow, it has become not enough just thinking about you during the day and dreaming about you at night. I want to see you. To talk to you in person. To hold you. To drink your breath from your lips. To listen to your heartbeat. To drown in the blue of your eyes. To give my body to your hands, your desire. All the damned time!_

_Don't know what to do about this. I've never felt like this before. What do I do?_

_E._

_...  
_

_September 14, Saturday. 9:45 p.m._

_TASS has reported on TV just now that 25 British diplomats and businessmen are being deported from the SU for activities not "compatible with their status" – they mean spying, of course. Twenty five people – that's a lot. Somehow I suspect not all of them are spies; some of them might have been added just for extra "spice"!_

_I wonder what Amanda thinks about all this. I like her: she is sharp, picks up on the tiniest of details, asks pointed questions. When we met at Bob D. concert, she asked me how I had gotten to know you. I think she looked relieved when I told her that Lara had introduced us. I wonder what she had thought before._

_We should meet up with you and her when you get back from your trip. I'll mention it to Lara. She's good with arranging meetings and events._

_My rock-opera is going well. I should show play it to someone serious. Artyom T.? He is the all-accepted authority on rock music in this country. He told me some time ago that I should join one of the rock-lab festivals in Leningrad. But with a different band. He didn't think some of the Wings guys were good enough. I said no that time. Perhaps I should reconsider. Will need to rearrange the band, though: don't think all the guys would want to play at an unauthorized rock festival. Taking part in those may attract unwanted attention from the Komsomol. Or even from the organs. But Sevka will be in the seventh heaven–he has always been dreaming of playing at a rock festival._

_Will you come to see me us playing at such an event?_

_E._

_...  
_

_September 16, Monday. 9:00 p.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_I had a quarrel with Grandfather today._

_We had a work session with the Berkeley team this morning to discuss the final version of the model and the data input. I had just opened my mouth to share my reservations about 2 components of the model when Grandfather cut me short. It blew me away: it was so not like him. So I didn't force the issue anymore and shut up. After the meeting, he called me in his office and started telling me off. For what? I had just tried to express my point of view, for heaven's sake! Isn't it what scientific debate all about?_

_Don't know what has gotten into him lately. He seems so defensive about the NW model that Dimitri Alexandrovich has developed. In truth, D.A. took over Alexin's model since his disappearance and "expanded" it. I have questions about this "expansion", but they do not want to open a discussion. And Prof. Ack. supports them. Alright, Prof. Ack. isn't a mathematician. But what about Val? He is a doctoral student in mathematics. He should be able to recognize the deficiencies, shouldn't he?_

_Or maybe it's me who's not getting it right? I'm not a mathematician, after all. But Alexin had some reservations about it too, didn't he? About the results of his own model._

_Will try to find out from Anton–he's done all the groundwork for D.A. anyway._

_It's a good thing that Anya hasn't been included in the exchange program. Otherwise it could have ended up with her and me fighting over this damned model with Grandfather and her father (don't remember if you know that D.A. Arseniev is Anya's father). She doesn't need this controversy, especially when Americans are involved. Not good for her future work at the MGU. She'll go far, our Anya, our clever girl._

_Anyway, I told Grandfather what I thought. He told me to listen to him and not to argue just this one time. Because it's "crucial for the mutual success of this international project that we all are coordinated". Doesn't sound like science to me. More like politics._

_Maybe I should quit the project._

_But if I do, how am I going to see you?_

_No, I shall stick with it. Will keep my mouth shut._

_And shall see you again. Soon._

_E._

_...  
_

_September 18, Wednesday. 11:05 p.m._

_What's going on? Another 6 Englishmen have been deported from the S.U. today. We definitely should meet with Amanda one of these days. When you are back._

_It's Anton's 18th birthday next Tuesday. He'll finally be considered a grown-up by everybody. We're planning a surprise party for him at my place. The guys will get him drunk within an hour, but I'm sure he'll be in the seventh heaven. I should try not to get drunk, though—it's not a good idea. Not with this heavy feeling of longing, like lead weight in my chest. Not with this maddening feeling of wanting something I know I can never have._

_It seems everything I want badly is unattainable. Why? Is it because I want too much? I already have more than many people around me do. Yet, I always want things that seem out of my reach._

_Like being your best friend. And more._

_Like visiting Calif._

_I've dreamt about it since I was five or six, inspired by my Father's stories—like fairytales they were. It was his longing for the place that infected me with the need to reach there. (He never told me why he'd decided to come to live in the SU, though)._

_Sometimes I feel like Ostap Bender from the Twelve Chairs1 — he and his silly dream about Rio de Janeiro. He never gets there in the end. That story ends sadly. What about mine?_

_Mother says I'm a hopeless dreamer. That I should grow up and be a physicist like I've been taught to be. She may be right. Perhaps I should._

_I'll call you over the weekend to see if you are back. Maybe we can meet somewhere. If not, I'll see you at Lara's birthday next Saturday. She's going to invite you. If she hasn't yet done so._

_I shall see you soon, cowboy._

_Yours always, E._

_...  
_

_September 20, Friday. Midnight._

_Lara called Amanda at her office and was told she had left Moscow. For good. Family affairs, they said. She said she had also called you and you weren't home either._

_What's going on? Where are you, Jack? You haven't left unexpectedly, like Amanda, have you? No! Please, no! I've just found you in person. I've just had one little taste of you. It's not nearly enough! I can't lose you just yet!_

_I'll go crazy if I don't hear from you soon._

_E._

_...  
_

_22/9. Don't know what time it is._

_I'm drunk. Couldn't even wait till I had a decent reason for it —Anton's birthday. I'm sorry._

_I miss you._

_I never understood love songs and poems in which someone loves someone else so much it hurts. I thought: how could love hurt? It was supposed to be a happy feeling, was it not? But now I know. It's dark and painful and lonely. It's like acid — eating away your insides, bit by bit, till there's nothing left, just a hollow shell of you. Makes you want to do something vicious. To someone. To yourself._

_The worst part is I also know that one day you'll leave and I'll never to see you again. Just like Count Rezanov and Conchita. The difference is he loved her back, just a little. I won't even have that._

_...  
_

_September 25, Wednesday. 11:00 a.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_Finally managed to put the guys out of my door an hour ago. The apartment looks like a hurricane has gone through it. Even after me trying to tidy it up. I'll have to ask Varvara Petrovna to come earlier this week and help me with cleaning._

_Hope Anton won't get into too much trouble for missing his classes today. I told him to go back to his dorm and sleep it off. I should have let him sleep it off here, instead of sending him off with the guys. But I needed some time alone so much that I was happy when he said he'd go with the guys. I'm the worst friend._

_I shall make it up to him later._

_Can't take my mind of the telephone call last night. Lara and Seva, both drunk, fought to answer it. By the time I wrestled the telephone from them, there was nobody there. Whoever called, they hang up._

_Was it you, Jack? Were you back at last and called me? I want it to be you. Please!_

_Will call you tonight._

_E._

* * *

Notes:

1 Ostap Bender is a fictional con man and antihero in the novel 'The Twelve Chairs' by Soviet authors Ilya Ilf and Yevgeni Petrov (first published in 1928). Proclaiming himself the "great combinator", Ostap Bender searches for a stash of diamonds hidden in one of the twelve eponymous chairs from the estate of a deceased wealthy woman. His dream is to travel to Rio de Janeiro, which he calls "the city of my dreams", while admitting the futility of that obsession. (from Wikipedia).

* * *

Soundtrack: It's My Life, by Jon Bon Jovi


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: the names of the main characters are not mine.

Rating: PG-15

Warnings: bad language, angst. WIP.

* * *

- 3 -

Jack woke up before his morning alarm, weary and with the familiar emptiness in the middle of his chest. Except that now it was almost overwhelming.

After returning to his apartment the previous night, he'd sat on his couch for a long time, trying to stare down the half empty bottle of Jim Beam, wishing he could gulp it all at once, go to sleep and not think about Lara's laughing voice on the phone. He would have too, had it not been for the operational run in two days time—Jack was to pick up an info' package left by one of the agents in a park on the west side of the town. A pre-op dry run with Marat and William had been scheduled for the next day. In the end, he had settled for one single shot and put the whiskey bottle back in the cupboard, berating himself for calling Ennis on the eve of an operation. He hadn't been able to fall asleep for a long time, and when he finally had, his slumber was ragged and fitful. In the morning the self-criticism resumed the moment his mind focused and started functioning again.

_You're a moron, Twist. You shouldn't have called him last night. Not before an op run._

_He's my job, too. I'm supposed to cultivate him. Haven't got in touch with him for a while. _

_Your job? _That_ what you thought about when you called him, huh?_

_I thought I needed to get in touch with him before I send a message to Joe._

_Yeah, right. And look at you now: you're distracted and sure as hell will make some stupid mistake. What did you think, idiot? Or rather, what did you think with? Hmm, rather obvious, huh?_

_Fuck you! _

_Exactly! That's all you think about nowadays, friend. _

Jack slammed his hand down on the alarm clock that had started shrieking on the bedside table, swept out of bed in one fierce move and stomped morosely into the bathroom.

...

The briefing in the Tank didn't finish till 9:00 p.m., so by the time Jack got back to his apartment it was close to eleven.

He had managed to block the previous night's call and all its implications from his mind for most of the day—people around him, daily tasks and the nitty-gritty of the upcoming covert operation helped to keep them at bay. But now, when he was finally alone, unwelcome thoughts and suspicions started crawling out nowhere again, invading his mind with their accusations, tearing to pieces the delicate fabric of the strange warmth that had began weaving around his heart.

Jack heard the phone ringing while unlocking the door, but didn't hurry inside to answer it. He was exhausted and didn't want to talk to anyone. Least of all to Lara or Ennis, if it was either of them. Anybody else from the Embassy could wait till morning, too. He dropped his shoulder bag by the door, took off his army field jacket and shoes and walked in his socks straight to the bedroom. There he stripped quickly down to his boxers and headed to the bathroom along the corridor leading into the kitchen. He felt like he would kill someone if he didn't have a hot shower right then.

He was getting into in the bathtub when the phone rang again, kick-starting his heart into a sprint. He jerked the shower curtain behind him and turned the hot water on full force. No, he wasn't going to answer it. He must have his head clear and focused on his run the next afternoon. _Then_ he would figure how to deliver to his bosses his inference that Lara Novikova and Ennis Del Mar Volkonsky were with the KGB after all.

They _were_ with the KGB, weren't they? How else to explain why they had been pretending that they were 'just friends' all the while? Jack didn't give a flying fuck that they were screwing each other, no he didn't, but why hide it? There had to be a reason and the only one he could come up with was that they were with the KGB.

And suddenly it came home to Jack why he had been keeping himself busy, staying out as late as he could for the last month and a half, why it had taken him a month to make those first phone calls to Ennis and Lara. He had been in hiding, trying to keep himself out of touch, subconsciously hoping he wouldn't be pitched by anyone after what he and Ennis had done during that long weekend in the country. Because if nobody had made a move on him, it would have meant that the guy wasn't with the KGB. Right? Jack had wished so much that he wasn't.

But now, finally, had come the moment of truth—the proof that they were with the organs after all. That Jack had been compromised. Acquired. And should expect their next move on him any time.

And Ennis? God, the boy had been good, Jack had to give him that. So good that for a moment there he had believed that Ennis had genuinely liked him. The way he liked Ennis. Yeah, so he _liked_ Ennis, so what? Big deal! Actually, it was even _better _that he liked Ennis – made it easier to seduce him, in accordance with the 'seawater' part of Operation Light Water. And the fact that the guy turned out to be the greatest fuck he'd ever had was like a bonus. He just had to make sure that it didn't become addictive before he was out of here. Once back home, he would find someone just like him. There were hundreds of them back in San Francisco—blond and singing and the rest of the fun.

But that would be in the future, when he was out of here. For now, the tables were turned and it wasn't Ennis who was going to be Jack's star agent. In fact, it looked like it was going to be the complete opposite—Jack Twist, the star agent of the KGB. He didn't think Ennis was a KGB officer, though—an informer at best, if not just a willing bait. Same thing with Lara. Both of them were too young to be operatives.

Or not, like William insisted?

In any case, he would be pitched by the KGB sooner or later. Maybe that was why the surveillance on him had been pretty sporadic all the while, they'd targeted him already and had been lulling his guards by keeping a very light tap on him. But how did they know that he was a case officer? They had to know, right? They wouldn't have set up such an elaborate honey trap had they not been positive about Jack's affiliation. And since they hadn't caught him red-handed, they must have been tipped off.

Yeah, that was probably it, if his own shop had been grooming him as a dangle. And the Operation Light Water had been set up exclusively for Jack to sell it to the Sovs, despite Joe's assurances that that wasn't the intention. What about the 'seawater' part? Had Joe and Co. intentionally leaked it to the KGB, too? Wasn't that why Ennis had been recruited by them in a preemptive move against the CIA's op?

_Jesus Christ, this is so_ _bloody convoluted! So Joe-esque…_ _I wish I wasn't…_

_Yeah? You wish? You should have thought about it _before_ you let Joe get to you. But no, you wanted a 'friend'. With benefits. Someone who cared, huh? Ha! That's what you get when you jump at the first one who comes along. So now deal with it, pal. And with Joe, too._

Right. Joe. He had to deliver the 'seawater' message to Joe as soon as possible, before the Sovs made their next move. And he'd better find a plausible explanation for why it took him so long to notify the Head of Ops of his 'progress' with the target.

_Shit_.

_Yeah, right. You've fucked it up, haven't you, Twist? _

He wrenched the taps shut, shoved the shower curtain out of his way, climbed out and snatched the towel that was draped over the barely warm radiator. He had just pulled his pajama bottoms on when the phone rang again, making him jump.

_For Christ's sake! Get a fucking grip!_

Jack closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath and walked quickly out into the sitting room. He sat down on the edge of the sofa, took another deep breath and picked up the phone.

"Hello?" he said in English.

"Jack! Good evening! Finally, I've got hold of you! Where have you been?" Lara sounded breathless and genuinely pleased. Real good actress.

"Good evening, Lara. How have you been?" he breezed, switching to Russian but ignoring her question.

"I've been busy. The academic year has started, you know. Besides, Viktor Viktorovich is staging a new musical. And I'm singing the leading part in it. So, yes, we've been quite busy. How about you? You've been away again?"

"No, I've been here." He didn't need to be diplomatic with them, did he? They'd got what they needed: his ass.

"Really? I've been trying to get hold of you, but you were not home."

"You did? I was probably busy, too. Or out late... When did you call?"

"Last week. I called you twice, but you weren't home. I called Amanda, but her secretary said she'd left for good. It was so unexpected. Why has she left?"

"I don't know. She didn't care to tell. I only learned about it just before her departure."

"She didn't tell you? I thought you were… close _friends._"

Right, of course _they_ knew it, since it had been staged primarily for _them_.

"What do you mean by _that_?"

"Just that you were close friends. _Da_? At least I'm pretty sure Amanda _liked_ _you_ a lot." She lowered her voice conspiratorially.

"Where did you get it from, Lara? She was married, for heaven's sake."

"So what?" Jack could hear an indignant shrug in her voice. "Marriage can't prevent people from liking each other… Even when you're only dating someone, you can still be attracted to somebody else. Happens all the time."

"It does?" Jack asked skeptically, not sure where it was all going.

There was a slight pause, then Lara asked cautiously, "Jack, are you mad at me?"

Was he? No he wasn't—why should he be? They were just doing their jobs, like he was his.

"Should I be?"

There was a sigh at the other end of the line. "So you are. Because I've been going out with Val, right? Is it why you have been avoiding me? Avoiding us?"

Val? He didn't give the slightest damn about Val. Or Howard. Or anyone else she chose to screw around with.

"No, I'm not avoiding you, Lara. I've just been very busy lately. Really. That's all." He sighed.

"So, are we still friends?" she asked, still cautious.

"Yes, we're still friends." _If that's all you're calling to ask me._

"Wonderful! So you'll come to my birthday this Saturday, _da_?"

"Your birthday? Of course I'll come, Lara. Thanks for inviting me… Would you mind if I ask how old you'll be? "

"Not at all! I'll be twenty." She sounded very pleased with herself.

"Ah, a round number, huh? My warmest congratulations."

"Thank you, Jack. So, it's 7:00p.m. at Restaurant Aragvi on Gorky Avenue. You know it, _da_?"

Jack knew it—one of the oldest and best restaurants downtown Moscow, featuring Georgian and Caucasian cuisines.

"Yes, I do. It's a great place."

"Very good! I'll see you on Saturday then."

It sounded like she was ready to bid him goodbye, but Jack wasn't ready to let her go just yet.

"Yes, thanks a lot, Lara. By the way, did you call me earlier this evening, half an hour before this call? I was in the shower and couldn't pick up the phone."

"No, I didn't. Must be _someone_ _else_ calling you late," she said mischievously.

_Yeah? D'you know who was that, girl?_ "Must be. I've been wondering who…"

"You must have plenty of people calling you home late, no? I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one." She giggled again. "But that's alright. As long as I'm the first in line," she announced, then added when nothing came from Jack's end, "I told you from the beginning that I liked you, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did. Thank you, Lara. I'll keep it in mind." He shook his head, mystified.

"Very good. I'm leaving you in peace now. And will expect you on Saturday."

"I'll be there. Good night, Lara."

"Good night, _daragusha,"_ she said in a sing-song voice and hung up.

Jack stared at the phone in his hand for a long moment, like it had suddenly grown bunny ears, shook his head again and dropped it in the cradle with a loud clunk. Whatever game _they_ were playing with him, it was absurdly juvenile.

So juvenile that it was almost ingenious.

...

The Moscow Station's operation to unload the info' package left by one of the agents in a dead drop in Fili Park started at 1:00 p.m. on Thursday. Due to the heightened surveillance after the expulsion of 31 British citizens, Nurimbekoff had decided to use the Station's entire contingent of 'professional staff' to create a smoke screen for Jack. Except for the Station Chief and William, none of the officers knew whom they were covering for.

Starting 1:00 p.m., at intervals of fifteen to thirty minutes, six other case officers and William left the Embassy in their cars and commenced what looked like counter-surveillance runs, the type usually employed for special operations – an elaborate and meticulous three to four hour drive around the city, with stops at innocuous and sometimes random places. Jack left the Embassy at 4:40 p.m. on foot, within ten minutes after William, and headed towards his Mustang parked on a side street nearby. According to the plan, the car wouldn't start and after five minutes of trying Jack got out while bitching out loud, slammed its door shut, locked it and headed towards the nearest Metro station. He was pretty sure he was clear of surveillance. Nevertheless, he carried on with his prescribed CS run, using Metro and random taxis, with the objective of reaching his final destination by 8:00 p.m., just before dark. Once the drop was unloaded, he was to head toward the side entrance of the park where a red Lada with specific plate numbers would pick him up and deliver him to a large duty free shop on Kutuzovsky Avenue, four kilometers from the park. William would be there and would give Jack a lift back to the Embassy.

The operation transpired without a slightest hiccup.

At 8:04 p.m. Jack picked up a plastic bag with documents, rapped in dirty rags to look like trash, behind the back of a bench at the far end of the park, near the river. It was unseasonably cold and, although it hadn't been raining for the last two days, there weren't many people in the park: three drunkards on a bench near the entrance bitching at each other; a group of school children running around playing some sort of a war game; two old women hobbling towards the exit, each carrying a loaf of dark bread and a carton of milk in their _avoska_ sacks. Jack sat on the bench for a few minutes, watching the sky behind fluffy blankets of clouds turning deep purple and dark blue, then stood up and strolled casually to the side exit.

At 8:28 p.m. he got into the back seat of the red Lada parked on the street within fifty meters from the gates, nodded a silent greeting to the driver who gave him one single sullen glance through the rear view mirror.

At 9:05 p.m. Jack 'ran into' William and his wife Marie-Ann at the duty free shop and at 10 p.m. was having a late dinner with a couple of contractors at Uncle Sam's, feeling drained and high at the same time.

He left the Embassy's grounds at half past eleven and flagged down a taxi, running his mouth non-stop all the way home. He generously overpaid the taxi driver, figuring the man was probably a KGB informant—weren't they all? Jack had beaten them all today – he could afford being charitable.

He didn't get back to his apartment until midnight, nursing the tiredness deep in his bones. After a scalding shower, he fetched his bottle of whiskey out of the cupboard, poured half a tumbler and sat down on the sofa. It was _not_ looking good. He was starting to rely on alcohol a bit too much nowadays, to unwind and get to sleep… Lara had said that her 'friend' Ennis had drinking bouts sometimes, behind the closed doors… How had that kid got so low? He was only twenty one… Jack wouldn't let himself fall to that point. No, he shouldn't… Wouldn't… He gulped down the amber liquid in two big mouthfuls, the heat unfurling from his throat to his stomach, then he put the tumbler down carefully on the coffee table, stashed the bottle back into the cupboard and staggered into the bedroom.

Sleep took hold of Jack shortly after his head hit the pillow, but sometime during the night he jerked violently and sat up, disoriented. He walked unsteadily to the bathroom, took a leak, washed his hands and looked into the mirror. So they had played him, so what? Wasn't it exactly what he was doing to them? It was just their jobs—he was doing his and they were doing theirs, right? So what was his fucking problem?

And the problem was that— No, he didn't even want to go there.

* * *

Soundtrack: Someone Like You, by Boyce Avenue


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: the names of the main characters are not mine.

Rating: PG-15

Warnings: bad language, angst. WIP.

* * *

- 4 -

The office he shared with Glen Evans, the other assistant CAO, was empty when Jack walked in the next morning and locked the door behind him. He dropped his shoulder bag on the floor under his desk, took off his jacket and glanced at his watch. It showed 9:08 a.m. For once Glen was later than him.

But not by much: after five minutes there was a sound of a key in the lock and then Glen rushed in, a little out of breath.

"Hey, Jack! We missed you yesterday. It was Thirsty Thursday, remember? Where were you?"

"Morning, Glen. What's up? Don't tell me the Dodger's lost the game to the Astros! Not after their winning streak this summer."

"They lost—"

"No shit!"

"Indeed. But that's not _the_ news." Glen put his shoulder briefcase on his desk, sat down and rolled his chair back so he could see Jack.

"What is it, then?"

"Don't you read newspapers anymore, dude? Where've you been?" He seemed determined to find out why Jack had been missing the whole afternoon the previous day.

"Herding the Berkeley folks. I need at least two double shots after each of their meetings, my brain hurts so much. So what's the news? C'mon, Glen, just spill it!"

"Looks like our intelligence services are having a winning streak, too. Remember the Walker family spying for the Sovs, arrested in June? And then that Sharon Something-or-other woman in caught July? Well, now they say a high-ranking KGB officer defected in August. Name's Gubchenko. He's being debriefed in Washington."

"No shit!" Jack's eyes went wide. _Jesus Christ, how could _this_ be in the news?_

"You've said that already." Glen pointed out, obviously pleased with both the news and the impression it made on Jack.

"I'll say it again, man: no shit. Isn't this kind of news supposed to be top secret or something? Where did you read it?" Jack asked innocently.

"Probably it should. Nevertheless, it's all over the news. It's on the front pages of Washington Post and New York Times yesterday. I'm sure other papers and TV are not far behind."

"Geez! I want to see it myself." Jack stood up and headed to the door.

"Thought you would." Glen smirked amiably. "Grab a couple of diet cokes for me if you're heading down to Uncle Sam's."

"Sure you don't want anything more festive on this occasion?" Jack threw back over his shoulder.

"We did last night but you missed it. But we can do a repeat tonight, especially for you, dude," Glen clucked out something between a laugh and a giggle.

"Great. First round on me," Jack grinned back and shut the door behind him.

The breaking news article in The Washington Post was not particularly big, but its headline was disparaging: 'Soviet Union Has Agents In CIA, Defector Says'. If that weren't enough, it went on to spill the name of the 'a high-ranking officer in the KGB", identifying him as Vladimir Gubchenko and revealing that he had defected while in Italy in early August.

Jack recalled his conversation in the Tank a month or so earlier, when Nurimbekoff had asked him if he knew a Theodore Ward, an ex-CIA officer who might have turned renegade. The case seemed to tie in neatly with what the articles were saying now—that if Gubchenko`s charges were true, they confirmed the suspicions that the CIA had been compromised by their own officers working as agents for the Soviets. The article went further, stating that the defector was in the hands of the CIA and was being debriefed at a safe house not far from Langley. A CIA spokesman approached by the newspaper had refused to provide comments.

This was wrong, so wrong. This wasn't how defections were supposed to be handled, was it? The proper procedure was that defectors' identities were kept confidential; then after debriefings, which could take months, they were usually given new identities under the Agency's defector resettlement program. Jack was pretty sure that there was no way the information could have leaked out if the Agency had been determined to keep it from the public. So what kind of a game was this now? For once he thought it wasn't Joe Cohen's handiwork… Was it? No, Joe would never do this to an agent, even if it was a defector. Poor bastard, what was he going to do after his debriefings were over? How were they going handle him?

Half an hour later, when Jack was back in the office, Glen told him that William wanted to see him – with or without the report on the meetings between the Soviet and American scientists. Jack rolled his eyes, grumbled, 'It's not even ten yet, ferchristsake', set the coke bottles on Glen's desk and headed back out the door. Maybe William would tell him what in the bloody hell was going on.

But William had nothing to 'tell' him – he scribbled on a sheet of paper that they were going to have a debrief in the Tank at 6:30 p.m. The debriefing after the previous day's operation, Jack figured. Should be a short one this time, so he would be able to catch up with the crowd at the diner later on, have a few beers and shoot the shit about this bizarre Gubchenko affair.

He spent the rest of the morning writing his full report on the op run, figuring he'd have to file it anyway, debriefing or not. In truth, he spent half of that time trying to decide how to reveal to his bosses his suspicions – and his reasons for them – about Lara Novikova and Ennis Volkonsky, and most importantly whether it was time for him to cable the 'seawater' message to Joe. If not now, then when? By lunchtime, he had resolved to delay making his revelations until after Lara's party. Maybe he'd have some hard proof by then. He would probably get some prep' talk tonight after he let Marat and William know that Ms Novikova had invited him to her birthday party. He didn't think the KGB would make a move on him before then—they hadn't been in a hurry so far, right? He hoped that would remain the case for as long as possible.

...

When they got up to the Tank at exactly 6:30 p.m. Marat was already there reading a document in a thin file in front of him. The Station chief stood up, shook hands with him, smiling, said 'great job, Jack' and waved him to sit down. As Jack had expected, the post-op debriefing took less than twenty minutes. However, just when he thought that they were done for the day and had opened his mouth to ask about the Gubchenko defection case that had been bothering him since morning, Marat said, "Now, about your other project."

"Yes, sir." He nodded, looking at Nurimbekoff eagerly, hoping the recoil he felt in his stomach hadn't shown in any way.

"How's your relationship with the Soviet nuclear winter team going? Where are you with Ennis Volkonsky?"

_Shit! _"I'm sorry, I've nothing new to report," he said. "I've been so swamped for the last month or so, I haven't had a chance to meet with any of them again. Had only a phone call with Novikova girl. I mentioned it in my report... By the way, last night she called to invite me for her birthday celebration. Tomorrow at seven, restaurant Aragvi on Gorky Avenue."

If Nurimbekoff was disappointed with Jack's lack of progress, he didn't let it show. "That's good. I'm assuming that the whole crew will be there."

"I'm hoping so, too, sir."

"We need you to step up the development of the Ennis Volkonsky case, Jack. This should now be your priority. He and Professor Volkonsky."

Prof. Volkonsky? That was news."Has anything happened?"

"Yes, there've been some developments. We now need additional information on Professor Volkonsky and his nuclear winter work. To be precise: on his _original_ nuclear winter work. It's needed to corroborate other information we've recently acquired."

"Is it related to the debriefing of this guy Gubchenko?" Jack asked cautiously.

"Yes, it is. William will work you through the details. But in a nutshell, the entire nuclear winter program might be a major disinformation campaign cooked up by the KGB. The aim was to discredit our government's nuclear arms strategy."

"But it's a joint Soviet-American program, is it not? Sponsored by the World Meteorological Organization? "

"It is now. But apparently the original Soviet project dates back to 1980. That was when NATO first announced the planned deployment of Pershings missiles in Europe. According to the source, Volkonsky led a group of scientists who were supposed to produce a study on the effects of a nuclear exchange over Germany. We need to get hold of this study. Or information about it at the very least." Nurimbekoff paused for a moment, letting the message sink in, then continued, "Two people at the HQ are already working on leads in the scientific circles in the US and Europe. But the key originator is here and, as it happens, you have access to him. And to his family members."

"Yes, sir." Jack nodded, looking questioningly from Marat to William.

He was still not entirely clear about the importance of Prof. Volkonsky's study, how it was linked with the KGB and what other information it was supposed to help to corroborate.

The Station chief had divined Jack's silent query. "The study might have been ordered by the KGB. We need to verify this information."

"As well as the assumptions and conclusions of this study, of course," William chimed in. "Would be good to know that, too."

It was obvious that his bosses were not entirely forthcoming about whys and wherefores of the assignment, but hey, his job was just to get the information, not to analyze why and how it would be used. He was pretty sure that the Agency or the State Department, or both, would find a good use for it.

"As I said, William will brief you later on the details of this assignment. In the meantime, do you have any questions?" It looked like Nurimbekoff was ready to adjourn the briefing.

Jack jumped at the opportunity. "Yes, sir. May I ask about the status of Theodore Ward? Has he been taken in?"

Nurimbekoff hesitated for a second before responding. "The FBI's working on it. Don't worry, Jack, it's under control. " His tone was soft, almost like he was trying to sound soothing.

So they hadn't got this Ward guy into custody yet. Jack didn't know how the FBI folks operated, but it seemed to him that it had been too long now—almost two months had passed since the day the Agency first learned about Ward from its walk-in source. And now this odd Gubchenko case.

"May I ask a question about this defection case that's all over the news? Vladimir Gubchenko?" Jack pretended he didn't notice William's glare.

"You want know why his defection and identity have been leaked to the press."

Jack nodded.

"You're right, Jack. It's an unusual case." The Station chief sighed, but held Jack's gaze. "A very high profile one. Well, because of the necessity of sharing the source with other agencies from the very beginning, it has been decided to handle it this way. Nevertheless, his security is guaranteed. He'll continue to enjoy our _full_ protection until his debriefing is deemed complete and he's been resettled."

The older man sounded convincing, but somehow Jack sensed that the Moscow Station chief didn't fully believe his own answer. He nodded again, eyeing his two bosses, then asked thoughtfully, "I'm assuming that this is just an exception, not a change in the rules."

William leaned forward abruptly as if to make a sharp reply, but Nurimbekoff raised his hand and he froze with his mouth open.

"No, there's no change in the rules," the Station chief said calmly. "This is indeed an exception. And we'll see how it goes… Now, coming back to your assignment, Jack, I want you to make this new angle to Operation Light Water your priority. It's code-named Original Sin. We need information about the _original_ Soviet nuclear winter project, the sooner the better. Call on all sources you have or can get access to: Professor Volkonsky, Ennis Volkonsky, the MGU Nuclear Winter team, the Berkeley team, Lenin Library. Anything else you can come up with. William will work with you on the details. Alright? Great." He stood up and picked up his file from the conference table. "That's all from me for now. I'll leave you two to work out the logistics."

After Nurimbekoff left, Jack spent another twenty minutes with William discussing the line he should take the next day with his Soviet 'friends'. They agreed that Jack would invite them to his place for dinner the following weekend and henceforth would try to keep in close contact with them – especially with the Volkonsky family – whether the KGB made a move on Jack or not. They would reconvene to discuss a concrete plan of action for Project 'Original Sin' the following Wednesday, when William returned from Leningrad.

They were at the Tank's door when William suddenly recalled that he'd received five video cassettes for Jack with the diplomatic pouch from the USIA. He'd had a quick look at them—they were recordings of the LiveAid concert from the BBC live broadcast. He'd left them in the office, if Jack wanted to collect them right away.

A quick look, huh? The weekly pouch from the USIA normally arrived on Monday night and today was Friday. Jack smiled at his boss and said that it was great timing as he now had something enticing to offer his Soviet 'friends'.

They swung by William's office, then Jack took the VCDs back to his own and locked them in the drawer of his desk. No point in carrying them around with him to the diner and maybe later the bar.

...

Jack spent the first half of the evening with the diplomatic crowd at Uncle Sam's, discussing the unfolding story about the KGB defector. When they left, he followed Grant, Frank and two other Marines to the Marines Club. He tried to keep his fraternizing compartmentalized, since the rest of the diplomatic staff didn't mingle with the Marines. In fact, the Marine guards occupied the lowest rung of the Embassy hierarchy and many, especially the diplomats, looked down on them.

But not everyone. Some female staffers of the State Department and even a few diplomatic wives frequented the Friday and Saturday night discotheques at Uncle Sam's and the Marines Club, where they openly went after the young Marines' asses. The most notorious amongst them was Stella Richi, a junior officer from the consular section. It was as if her New Year's resolution was to get into the pants of all Marine guards at the Embassy. And not only theirs: once she had almost raped Jack in the men's room, but had not appreciated his halfhearted response. She had let him be ever since.

Jack leaned against the bar with his warm third beer, watching two dozen hot bodies shaking to the disco beat in the middle of the dimly lit clubbing room. He wondered idly whether local discotheques were different from this lusty show by sex-and-recreation-deprived young men and a handful of accommodating women. He bet they were different—after all, local men could get all the sex they wanted at home, couldn't they? At home, where they could drive their women wild, shrieking into the phones 'let go of me' when someone called… Nah, probably they just danced at their discotheques… He wondered if Ennis went to discotheques. Well, ok, so maybe he and his band _played_ at discotheques, but did he dance? Jack rarely danced, didn't mind watching though—

"Jack!"

Frank rolled up to him, a lewd grin on his sweaty face, obviously high and horny. Jack rocked back slightly when Frank leaned into him and shouted in his ear over the loud music, "We're going to my room. Wanna join?"

He turned his head to look at four other Marines dancing with Stella and two tall, blond girls Jack didn't know.

"With the girls?" Jack shouted back, arching his eyebrows. Was he serious? Weren't the Marine guards forbidden to bring girls into their rooms?

"With the girls." Frank nodded happily.

"You will get yourselves in trouble, Frank."

"Nah! We'll be back before the Club closes. You joining us? C'mon, man. It'll be fun."

"Who are the blondes?" Jack had no interest in joining, but he didn't want to say no outright either. "Never seen them here before."

"Rita and Anna? They're from the German embassy."

"You sure, Frank? They don't look German to me."

If anything, Jack would say they looked like Russians. Who were not allowed in the Embassy's grounds except the designated office area and definitely not after office hours.

"You worry too much, man. Sarge brought them from the bar at Cosmos Hotel. He says they're Germans. Maybe he's checked their passports, who knows? So, you coming with us or what?" Frank was getting impatient.

"Nah, I'll pass. Thanks, man. I'm gonna head back soon. But you guys, don't get yourselves in trouble. Know what I mean?" He sincerely hoped Sergeant McMahon, if not his Marines, knew what they were doing.

Jack left the Marine's den after a quarter of an hour and drove his Mustang home. He couldn't stop thinking about the strange events of the day. His thoughts bounced from one incident to another as he struggled to understand each of them and their implications: the leak of Gubchenko's identity to the press, the continuously evolving agendas to the nuclear winter project and what looked like a security breach at the Embassy, instigated by the Marines who were supposed to prevent such breaches in the first place. All these events were worrying and didn't inspire a lot of confidence in the prudent practices of the job and the work place, but at least they kept Jack from dwelling on one fact that annoyed him no end: that Ennis Del Mar Volkonsky had gotten to him so easily.

That for a moment he had foolishly imagined that what they had had together during those two days in the Russian countryside was real.

* * *

A/N:

1. John Anthony Walker, Jr**.** is a former US Navy Chief Warrant Officer and communications specialist convicted of spying for the Soviet Union from 1968 to 1985, together with his son Michael, his brother Arthur and co-conspirator, former Senior Chief Petty Officer Jerry Whitworth.

2. Sharon Scranage is a former CIA employee who was convicted in 1985 and imprisoned for spying for Ghana.

* * *

Soundtrack: Desperado, by Eagles


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: the names of the main characters are not mine.

Rating: PG-15

Warnings: bad language, angst. WIP.

* * *

- 5 -

Restaurant Aragvi was located in one of Moscow's prime settings, on Gorky Avenue. It was housed in the basement of an art-nouveau style building with a fruity cornice that faced the town hall across the street, a towering crimson edifice with a golden crest. Since tsarist times the restaurant was famous for its Georgian cuisine. Legend had it that it was Stalin's favorite eating place and that he had a private tunnel built between his office in the Kremlin and the restaurant's basement.

It started drizzling as Jack parked his car on a narrow street behind the building. He zipped up his jacket and reached for the folding umbrella on the front seat as well as the white, duty-free plastic bag containing his presents. After locking the car, he walked quickly past the small square with the statue of Yury Dolgorukiy, the founder of Moscow, prancing on his horse in the center, turned the corner and entered the restaurant through the low, arched doorway.

As he stood by the door shaking the raindrops off his umbrella, a middle-aged, liveried doorman came up and greeted him solemnly: "Good evening," he said in Russian, inspecting Jack's obviously foreign clothes with unhidden suspicion. "Do you have a reservation?"

"Good evening. I'm a guest to Miss Lara Novikova's birthday party," he replied in Russian with an exaggerated accent and saying 'miss' in English. He always did this when he dealt with strangers here, exploiting their odd deference towards Americans.

The doorman shook his head disapprovingly, but not unkindly. "You mean Larissa Leonidovna, of course. You're late, young man—the starters are served already." His tone softened a tad when he noted the expression of remorse on Jack's face. "She is receiving her guests downstairs. Your jacket, young man." He looked at Jack's fatigue-colored, military jacket with a silent reproach, then gestured towards the wide marble staircase at the end of the corridor. "Follow the stairs down, then turn right."

Jack had only taken two steps down when he heard the front door opening behind him and a rushed voice say in accented Russian, "Larissa Leonidovna's reception, please? Hope I'm not too late. God, I hate this rain!"

It was Val. Jack turned around, took the two steps up again and strolled back to the door.

"Hey, Val. How are you? Haven't seen you guys in a while."

Val had just put a bouquet of powder pink roses and a big flat box of what appeared to be chocolates down on the counter. He looked dapper in his long black coat over a suit and tie, with his hair was neatly combed, even if wet. He turned to face Jack and gave him a look-over before responding.

"Hello, Jack. Thought I'd see you here." He handed his coat to the doorman. "Thank you," he said without looking at the man, eyeing Jack's suit jacket over denims instead.

"You did?" Jack cocked an eyebrow, smiling a little, wondering what the other man meant.

"Yeah. Lara was complaining that she couldn't get hold of you. She asked me if I had your work number." Val's tone carried just a hint of resentment.

"She did?" Jack grinned apologetically. "I'm sorry. This past month has been totally crazy. I hadn't even managed to check up on you guys. You guys okay? Need any help with the MGU? Pretty sure you don't need my help with Ms Lara, though, huh?" He winked at the younger man.

Val's expression relaxed, he even offered Jack a weak smile. "Nah, it's under control. Thanks for asking." He paused for a moment, then asked, "Actually, do you think you can arrange passes for us to the Lenin Library?"

"I thought the MGU was supposed to arrange them for you guys? They haven't?"

Val made a face. "Sure, they have. But only two: one for Professor Ackerman and one for the rest of us. Of course, _Sara's_ decided to monopolize the _second_ one," he added and rolled his eyes.

Jack nodded understandingly. "Alright. Lemme see what I can do for you. Maybe not for the whole team, but two more passes should be doable… Hey, maybe I'll apply for myself, too. And try to learn more about the nuclear winter theory you're testing. What say you? Will you guys take me on your team if I get you the passes?" He grinned, looking at Val expectantly, then when the answer didn't come, looked towards the staircase. "Let's go, then? Can't keep Lara waiting, can we?"

...

The main dining hall of the restaurant in the basement was a long chamber, with a vaulted ceiling supported by four arches. The ceiling and the walls were beautifully decorated with Caucasian style frescoes and floral ornaments. A long table under a starched white cloth was laid out in the center, generously covered with flowers, open jars of black and red caviar, plates with smoked red and white fish, a selection of cold meats and cheeses, several types of breads and bottles of Georgian wines. So what was that again about the scarcity of food produce in Moscow?

Lara waved from her seat at the head of the table facing the door. "Jack! Val!" she called out when she saw them in the doorway. "Come on in. We're waiting for only you now!"

Jack smiled at her broadly and waved back while stealthily scanning the congregation.

There were about thirty guests around the table, all of them young and most of them trendy, even by western standards. So it was a no-parents night, then, which was a shame as Jack had been all set for meeting with Deputy Minister Novikov and Mrs. Novikova. He'd even brought an additional present for her, courtesy of the Agency.

Jack fell behind Val, who hastened toward the head of the table to congratulate the hostess. He noticed Anton, Anya and… the rest of the crowd sitting at the end of the table that was near the door. He smiled and gave them a quick wave, then turned all his attention back to Lara.

"Dear Lara, my warmest congratulations on your twentieth birthday! You look ravishing!" She did indeed, in her cream-colored, tight fitting pantsuit, her hair dyed strawberry blond. "I wish you… anything you can think of, really. May all your wishes and dreams come true."

"Jack! I'm so glad you could come." Lara dropped Val's flowers and chocolate box on the chair next to her and launched herself at Jack.

He held her gingerly as she pressed her whole body against his, circling her arms around his neck. As Lara continued clinging to him, Jack lifted her up briefly, then carefully put her down and distanced himself from her more than enthusiastic embrace. "A little something for you." He handed her his present. "Hope you'll like it… And I love the hair."

Jack teased the loose end of her locks with his finger. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Val turn away with his lips tightly pressed together and walk to where Anton and Anya were sitting. And Ennis.

"Thank you, Jack. I'm glad." She started rummaging in the plastic bag immediately. After a few seconds, she pulled out a pink box, then another, dark green one. "French perfume!" She squealed and looked up at him, all smiles and a little breathless. "Is this is all for me?"

"One is for your mother. I thought she would be here." Jack shrugged slightly.

"Oh, Jack! Thank you so much! You're so attentive. She will love it!"

Sensing that Lara was about to launch herself at him again, he quickly said, "Great. So let's not keep your other guests waiting. Where should Val and I sit?"

Since the table had been filling up as the guests arrived, starting at the beginning where the hostess of the event presided, he and Val found themselves at the other end of the table, where Ennis and his friends were clustered. Jack offered his quick greeting to everybody in general and sat down next to Anton. Val sat down across him, next to Seva.

"Jack! How are you? We haven't seen you for a while." Anton was smiling at him happily, almost as breathless as Lara had been.

"I'm good. Thanks, Anton. I meant to drop by to see you guys at the MGU, but have been so busy this past month. Hope everything is fine. With our Berkeley friends, too." He nodded toward Val, who was looking at Ennis, two seats away from Jack, as the young man introduced his band members to the American.

"Things are great, Jack. You know that we're almost done with our program with them, _da_? A month earlier than planned. So, they may leave earlier. If they want, of course."

Jack had heard about the progress of the joint program, but not about plans to return home earlier than originally scheduled. "Yeah," he said vaguely, annoyed with himself for not being up to date with his charges' plans. "I wish I could spend more time with you guys."

"We were trying to find you, Jack," Anya said, leaning forward to look at him, her eyes warm.

Wow, he didn't realize that he was so popular with these kids—first Lara telling him off for being missing in action the other day, then Anton, and now Anya.

"Really? I was in town, but was very busy. Been coming home very late for the entire month."

"And so you missed another birthday." She nodded understandingly.

"Whose birthday?"

"Anton's. Our Anton turned eighteen this week. He's a grownup man now." Anya put her arm around the boy's shoulders and shook him, smiling affectionately.

Anton shrugged Anya's arm off. "Oh, come on, Anya. You're like my mama, really."

"Is it true? Belated happy birthday, Anton." Jack shook the boy's hand and punched him lightly on his shoulder. "I owe you a birthday present."

"Really? Thank you, Jack. I will look forward to it! Now we should try all this great food. Lara will be very upset if we just sit here and talk." He turned his eager attention to the food on the table.

"Jack, try this _satsivi_ chicken," Anya said, leaning forward and holding out a large plate with some appetizer in his direction. "It's delicious."

"Oh, Jack, you're in trouble now," Seva said with a friendly smirk. "She thinks you're not well-fed enough."

"Oh, stop it, Sevka!"

"It's true, Jack," Anton jumped in, shoveling the chicken onto his plate. "She makes sure that we're all well-fed at all times."

"Anton!" Anya interjected, glaring at him. She took the appetizer plate away from him and passed it to Ennis on her other side.

"But it's true, Anya. We were all full for two days after my birthday! She cooked for my birthday a few days ago," Anton explained to Jack, who was listening to the exchange with an amused smile. "That's what you really missed."

"She did? It's very nice of her."

"Isn't it? They made a surprise party for me at Ennis's place." Anton turned his head to beam at his friends. "Anya baked a bunch of pies, _pirozhky_, made three kinds of salads and aspic, Lara brought a huge cake and imported cold cuts, and the guys bought drinks. It was awsome! Such a pity you couldn't join us."

A few days ago. Ennis's place. Lara's drunken voice on the phone. Tuesday?

"I'm sorry I missed it, too. Last Sunday, wasn't it? I was actually free. What a shame!" _Say Tuesday! Please!_

"No, it was on Tuesday. Anya and Lara skipped their classes to prepare the food. Ennis just told me to come to his place after the classes. And there they were, all waiting for me!"

So it _was_ Tuesday…. Still, it didn't necessarily mean that the two of them weren't with the _organs_.

Jack felt his face splitting in an ear-to-ear grin.

"Sounds like you guys had a great party. I'm prepared to bet that everybody was happily drunk by the end."

Anya chuckled and shoved lightly on Anton's shoulder.

The boy laughed. "We were, most of us. Except Anya. And maybe Ennis. He didn't look that drunk, right, Anya? Just a little pensive as usual. Lara and Seva, on the other hand, almost killed each other, fighting over… Everything!"

"Don't exaggerate, Anton," Seva objected from across the table, feigning exasperation. "We only fought once during the entire evening. Bitching at each other doesn't count."

"Yeah, right, I forgot: it was Ennis who nearly killed you two with his telephone, yes?" The boy laughed again, clearly very pleased by the memory of the party his friends had thrown for him.

"Is that right?" Jack said and leaned forward, trying to get a glimpse of the man in question.

Ennis was talking to Val, or rather listening to what the American was telling him about his plans to visit Leningrad the next weekend, nodding occasionally.

He looked different again: a deep, golden tan, the sun-bleached hair trimmed back shorter, the charcoal grey crew-neck pullover giving him a solemn air… like he had matured during the last couple of months. He was no longer the boyish-looking guy Jack remembered, but a fully grown man. And a very fine one at that…

Ennis must have felt Jack's gaze on him, because he turned his head and met Jack's eyes. When he saw Jack smiling at him, his lips pressed together tighter and he quickly looked away, like a person caught staring inappropriately.

_Fine, Ennis. You don't have to look at me. In fact, you don't have to do anything about me… Yeah, don't do anything, please. Just be like… like you were back _then_…_

_...  
_

The birthday party was soon in full swing. After an hour a band started playing and dancing quickly ensued. Lara was apparently well known here too, because various patrons of the restaurant kept coming up with their wine glasses to congratulate her. She accepted the homage of the grown-ups gracefully; it was obviously a well-honed skill.

Karelin made a grand entrance around nine with a huge bouquet of crimson roses. He presented his regards, stopped to exchange a few words with Ennis and his band, nodded to Jack, and left after barely fifteen minutes.

Deputy Minister Novikov and his stately wife arrived just before 10:00 p.m. They had been at a recital at the Philharmonic Chamber Hall two Metro stations down Gorky Avenue and popped in after the show to see if Lara needed anything. Jack was quickly presented to the bosomy Mrs. Novikova who was instantly charmed by Jack's present—a bottle of Dior which Lara rushed to hand over to her mother—, then by Jack's small talk. After a few minutes, Jack excused himself and seized the opportunity to get to know the Deputy Minister. Soon they were talking about the extension of the cultural exchange program between the Soviet Union and the US that Deputy Minister was in charge of.

Jack had heard from Glen, who was coordinating the project, that the negotiations hadn't been easy: both sides stuck to their guns on details, most of them related to the rise of unofficial visits of American singers and musicians to the Soviet Union. The Russians were frustrated that the Americans couldn't 'coordinate' their 'cultural workers' and the Americans couldn't seem to make their counterpart understand that they didn't 'coordinate' the private sector, including the entertainment sector. One thing they had managed to agree on, though, was that the resumption of the exchange program should start with the Bolshoi Theatre's ballet troupe touring America the following year.

The Russian looked at him with interest when Jack suggested that the two countries' cultural exchange might already have resumed—through Deputy Minister and his gorgeous daughter's attendance of the July 4th celebration. And that maybe something simple but extraordinary, such as the Bolshoi's prima-donna Maya Plisetskaya coming to a reception at the Ambassador Hart's residence, would be another step forward. The Deputy Minister looked thoughtful for a moment, then changed the subject.

Lara's parents retreated after a couple of rounds of toasts, leaving their daughter and her young friends to continue their party. As soon as they'd disappeared up the stairs, the band struck up ABBA's 'Dancing Queen' and Lara was swept away by her classmates to the small dance floor in front of the band. Jack grinned and shook his head in response to her enthusiastic gesturing, mouthing 'sorry, I don't dance', and returned to his end of the festive table.

It was vacant, as all his neighbors had apparently joined Lara. Jack turned around in his seat to watch young people enjoying themselves on the dance floor. He had been wondering the other day if Ennis danced, so here was his opportunity to—

"You don't dance?" asked a deep voice in Russian behind Jack's back and his heart leaped in his chest.

He made an effort to turn around slowly, to restrain his eager smile. "Hey Ennis. No, I don't. I like to watch people dancing, though. How about yourself?"

Ennis sat down on the chair next to Jack, turned to look at the dancing guests, too. "I dance sometimes." He was having problems with small talk again.

"But not today, huh?" Jack decided he wasn't going to make it easy for him this time.

"No, not today." Ennis looked at him intently, like Jack was some nuclear physics problem he was trying to figure out.

"Having a good time, though, yes?"

"Um, yes."

He didn't sound very convincing, but then his lips crinkled in a shy little smile and Jack couldn't hold back his.

"Good. Haven't seen you in a while. How have you been, Ennis?"

"Not bad. I was away for a month. Just got back last week." He pulled out a pack of Marlboros from a pocket of his pants, flicked out a couple and offered them to Jack.

"Thanks." Jack pulled one out of the pack, reached for his lighter, offered the light to Ennis first, then lit his own cigarette. "So where—"

"I called you—" Ennis blurted out at the same time as Jack.

Both stopped, watching each other expectantly, waiting for the other to continue.

Jack exhaled deeply, grinning, feeling unreasonably pleased. "So you called me, yes?"

"Yes, I did." Ennis smile grew an inch wider. "A few times. But you weren't home."

_A few times, huh? And why was that, Ennis? What did you call me for?_

_For heaven's sake, Twist! You had you dick up his ass, remember?_

_Alright! So I'm a jerk. Are we happy now? _

"I'm sorry. I was completely swamped these past couple of months… So where did you go? Was it some sort of vacation? Got yourself a nice tan."

"No." Ennis shook his head, still smiling, but now looking a little self-conscious, too. "We were… uh, doing some construction work. Built a house of culture for a _sovkhoz_ near Tula. For money, you know."

"Oh, alright. Did it pay well? " Construction work? Was this guy serious?

"We got a thousand rubles each this time. I can't complain."

Ennis shrugged, took a drag on his cigarette and Jack swallowed, suddenly overcome by the desire to feel the tip of that cigerette between his lips… Like _then_, in the cornflower field…

"Wow! I didn't know construction work here pays that well." He wondered how much their work for the organs fetched—they _were_ with the organs, weren't they? "You do that often?"

"Every year, since I enrolled in the university. It pays for the instruments in the band, you know."

Right. And he had thought that they were just a bunch of spoilt _nomenklatura_ kids. The KGB aside, he really ought to make an effort to understand the ways of these people better. If he wanted to be friends with them, that is. It was part of his job anyway.

The music changed to a slow tune and some of the dancers returned to their seats around the table. Anton plopped down into his seat on the other side of Jack.

"And why don't _you_ dance, Jack? Ennis, why are you keeping him here? Lara will be mad at you for monopolizing one of her guests." Anton seemed genuinely worried at the prospect of Lara being mad at his friend.

"Don't worry, Anton. He's not monopolizing me. He's keeping me a company as I don't dance." He smiled reassuringly at the Russian boy. "I was actually telling Ennis that I'd like to invite you guys to my place next week. For an American dinner. What do you say? I've got copies of the LiveAid concert from a friend of mine."

"Really? That's terrific! Everybody would love it, right, Ennis?"

Ennis didn't look so convinced for some reason and Jack's heart fell. Why was it so difficult with this man? He didn't seem to be able to get to him. Except that time in the countryside… But he shouldn't think about it, not now. Instead, he should focus on what Ennis was saying…

"…great. Not sure if everybody could come, though…"

"Will you come?" Jack insisted.

"Of course. Absolutely." Ennis nodded, smiling, held Jack's eyes for a moment, then turned to Anton. "We can't miss LiveAid, can we, Anton?"

Okay, so the LiveAid tapes worked, then. At least he'd gotten this right. He'd try to figure out the rest later.

Jack didn't get another chance to talk to Ennis one on one. Shortly after, Lara breezed up and dragged him to the dance floor for a slow dance. She clung tightly to him, her cheek pressed into the side of his neck, giving Jack no chance of distancing her from his body, even for a hair-width of space. So he just held her around her waist carefully, trying to avoid moving around too much, not letting her rub against him.

Which was so fricking hard, because he hadn't got laid since… for almost two months already. Hadn't even jerked off lately. What had he thought? Should have known it could come to this.

He threw a glance toward the end of the table where he had sat with Ennis and his friends. Seva and Val were watching him dancing with Lara—Seva with a very amused expression on his face while Val's eyes were shooting daggers at them. Ennis sat with his back to the dance floor, his head held high, his body rigid. Then as Seva said something, laughing, he stood up, moved his chair back careful like and walked out of the dining room without even a glance toward the dance floor.

Aw, c'mon! What the heck was that boy expecting him to do, huh? It wasn't like they were a couple or something. They weren't even friends! They'd just shared one great tumble, that was all. So why should he feel bad about flirting a little with one of the boy's female friends?

Jack stopped moving and tried to peel Lara's arms off his shoulders.

"Lara, I think maybe we should—"

"Yes, I agree! Let's go, _daragusha._"

She grabbed hold of his hand and pulled him after her, heading towards the door.

"Lara, where are you going?" Jack tried to hold her back, the realization that she had gotten it all wrong descending on him like a heavy, damp blanket…

…Or maybe this was part of their plan?

"Come on, Jack. Nobody will find us." She turned to flash a reassuring smile at him, but didn't slow down.

"Lara, can you hold on for a moment, please." Jack pulled her to a stop when they were out of the door and everybody's sight. "I don't think it's a good idea." She looked at him expectantly, so he continued, "I'm not supposed to—"

"You want me, _da_?" She threw a suggestive glance at his crotch, smiled expressively. "I know you do. I want you, too, darling. So why aren't we supposed to?"

"I'm a diplomat, Lara. We're not supposed to… eh, have relationships with the local people." He wished he sounded more confident for his own good.

"Oh, that's nonsense, Jack. We're all human beings, irrespective of our convictions, yes?" She snaked her arms around his waist, rocked into him, looked up, smiling seductively, and murmured, "If this place is what worries you, don't be. It's safe. I know for sure."

So it _was_ a setup. She was making a move on him after all, like William had always thought she would. But then why had Ennis acted like he was…? No, it was just him who was being stupid: it was part of their act, quite an elaborate one. He should have figured by now…

"Lara, I can't. I'm sorry," Jack said and bit his lower lip.

He wasn't ready for this, even if it was his job. Not today. Not with _him_ around. Joe had told him he could take his time to develop all the leads, right? So, there was no hurry.

Lara stopped rubbing against him and stepped back, but didn't take her arms from around his waist.

"Why?" There was surprise written all over her face, impatience too, but no anger.

"This is just not right. You deserve more than this, Lara… More than a quick bang in the toilet." He smiled at her softly and touched her cheek with his fingertips. "You're a special girl."

Lara thought about it for a second, watching his face intently, then shrugged. "I do anything I want, Jack. Even if it's a quick bang in the toilet." She let out a short giggle. "But if it's not working for you, that's fine. I'll wait." She reached up and cupped the side of Jack's face in her little palm. "_You_ are a special man, Jack. Worth waiting for. As I already told you." She smiled at him, her smile confident and a little taunting. "Alright then. Let's go back. And promise me you won't be upset if I disappear with Val in a few minutes. We'll still be friends, _da_? And remember, I must be the first in line!"

She giggled again, shoved Jack playfully in the middle of his chest, swirled around on her heels and flitted towards the dining room.

Jack exhale sharply, hesitated for a second then walked quickly to the men's room in the corner of the short hallway, opposite the staircase. He prayed it was empty. He prayed he would find Ennis there. Shit, he didn't even know what he prayed for...

It was empty.

Jack locked himself in one of the two cubicles with old flush toilets with a chain hanging down from an elevated cistern, leaned against the cold tile wall and closed his eyes.

He could do this, it was his goddamn job. He would let them frame him, pitch him, recruit him and then run him. Both sides. Case officer Twist was a dangle, a double fucking agent, right?

He just wished that one Ennis Del Mar Volkonsky hadn't been part of this fucking convoluted equation….


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: the names of the main characters are not mine.

Rating: PG-15

Warnings: bad language, angst. WIP.

* * *

- 6 -

Jack woke up to the sound of rain bombarding the window of his bedroom. He turned his head towards the monotonous sound and peeked through his eyelashes. It was still dark, so he pulled the blanket over his head and went back to sleep. When he opened his eyes again, the grey morning light was seeping through the curtains and there was no sound of raindrops pelting against his window. He looked at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It was 7:11 a.m. He sighed and tried to go back to sleep again, but after a while gave up trying.

The previous night, when he'd returned to the dining room after the incident with Lara, she had already disappeared with Val as she'd said she would. Nobody had seemed to take any special notice – they'd all been busy dancing, drinking and eating, and generally enjoying themselves. Jack had looked for Ennis in the boisterous crowd, but couldn't find him—the young man had disappeared, too. And so had Anya. So after fifteen minutes Jack had taken his leave. He'd felt like a bastard for no rational reason and at the same time tried to tell himself that it was all part of the ruse to get to him. By the time he got home, he had managed to convince himself that it was all a KGB ploy and that there couldn't really be any hurt feelings between any of them. Hadn't Lara acted completely cool? She'd been totally professional. So, then, should he.

Now that sleep had abandoned him, Jack got up, took a few lazy steps to the window and looked out. The world outside was cold and grey and soaking wet. It didn't look windy, though, and Jack decided that he was going to piss his minders off by jogging in this ungodly weather. He put a windbreaker over his Cal State sweatshirt, put on his running shoes, raked his fingers through his hair, stashed his dip card, some money and keys in his belt bag and left the apartment.

The _militzia_ guard wasn't even at his post and Jack thought he would probably give the man a fricking heart attack when he returned from his jogging. Well, there was nothing he could do about it—the poor bastard would just have to deal with it.

It started drizzling again half an hour into his run—around five blocks south and then east of his apartment block. The streets were deserted, with most of the shops still closed. He noticed a phone booth at the corner of the brick building a hundred meters ahead and hurried across the street towards it.

Once in the booth, he looked at his black and red Swatch. It showed 8:03 a.m. Okay, so it was still early. But then he would be home for sure. Jack owed it to him, right? The guy had said he called him 'a few times'. Jack owed him at least one call in return. Especially after the way they had parted the day before. Or rather hadn't parted at all.

_Oh, ferchristsakes_! _Just make the damn call already!_

Jack sighed, fumbled in his belt bag for a two kopek coin, then quickly dialed the number. He closed his eyes for a moment, manning up for whatever conversation it would turn out to be. He hadn't the vaguest idea what to expect or what he should be saying, and which hat he should put on with him now.

"Alyo?"

Ennis's voice sounded tired and Jack's gut clenched.

"Good morning, Ennis. Hope I'm not too early." He didn't offer his name, but hoped Ennis would recognize him.

There was a slight pause, then Ennis said cautiously, "Good morning. It's fine, I've been up for some time."

He didn't add Jack's name to his greeting and Jack brushed away the sting.

"How are things?"

"Good. Thank you. Yourself?"

It sounded like Ennis was as uncertain where it was all going—just like Jack.

"I'm fine. Just fine, thanks… Listen, I'm calling because yesterday, you know, we didn't manage to… um, I didn't…" _Oh, fuck it!_ "I should have called you earlier, Ennis. Like a month and a half ago. I'm sorry. I don't have a good excuse why I didn't."

He was getting himself straight into the trap, but that was alright, in case there was no trap and it was all just his and his bosses' sick imagination.

There was a sigh on the other end of the line and Ennis voice rumbled in, low and soothing. "You did call, right? I got your message."

"Yeah, a month after… um, later."

"It's fine, Jack. I was away for a month, too. Glad you're calling now… You calling from the street?"

Jack froze. "Yeah… How do you know?"

The phone booth was tightly closed and there was almost no noise coming in from the light traffic on the street.

He heard Ennis's low chuckle.

"Just guessing. The three times you called me, you always did so from the street. Guess you don't trust your phone at home."

_You've figured that out, too, huh? _"You're right. I have a problem with most of the equipment and places when they're _predesigned_ for my use. If you know what I mean."

"I got it. That's also why you don't like to identify the callers to your phone by name, right?"

This boy was quick—well, that was if he wasn't with the organs.

"Right. How about you? Do _you_ trust _your_ telephone?"

There was a slight hesitation, then Ennis's voice came in again. "I never really thought about it… Never had anything…um,_ special_ that I couldn't say openly on the phone to _someone_," he added quietly.

Jack swallowed around a lump. "Welcome to my world."

There was a moment of silence, then Ennis said quietly, "I understand."

_Do you really?_ "Listen, Ennis. About yesterday, with Lara—"

"It's alright, Jack. I understand _that_, too. Maybe more than you think." He sounded sad. Resigned.

"You do?"

"Yes… Besides, knowing Lara, I'd be surprised if she wouldn't have a go at you." He was silent for a moment, then continue, "I also understand that what we… um, happened in August was a one shot thing. Happens. So don't worry. You don't owe—."

"Ennis, stop! Listen to me… Ennis? "

"I'm here."

"It's nobody's business but ours. Alright? We just have to be _very_ careful. You know what can happen if we aren't, don't you? " _I'll be pitched if you're with the KGB or you'll be sent to a gulag if you are not. That's what'll happen, Ennis. Hope you know it, friend._

"I know. I'll be careful… Can we meet… um, sometime?" Ennis asked tentatively, then quickly added, sounding coy, "Just to talk."

A warm feeling spilled over in Jack's chest and he laughed quietly into the phone. "Sure we can. Just to talk," he teased.

"When? I mean, let me know when you'll have time."

"I'll call you later today, alright? Around two in the afternoon? Will you be home?" He needed to figure out what they could do and where and get himself somewhere in town so that he could call from a public phone again.

"I'll be waiting for the call."

"Maybe we can go and see a movie or something?"

"Alright."

It should be fine for two young men to see movies together here, shouldn't it? Even if one was a student and the other was a diplomat from the American Embassy…. Oh, fuck it, he didn't care. He was tasked with the job of 'developing' this young man, so he could go about it as he saw fit.

"I'll have a look at a movies announcement board and let you know later. _Kharasho_?"

"_Kharasho_. Talk later, then."

He could tell Ennis was smiling. "Talk later, Ennis."

Jack hung up, peeled his own grin slowly off his face and tucked it away. For later.

...

At 2:00 p.m. he called Ennis from the street again and told him he would meet him at 3:00 p.m., at the movie theater _Vityaz'_, which was in walking distance from Metro Station _Belyaevo_. He had picked this cinema because he recalled Lara mentioning that Ennis lived in this area, on the southern fringe of Moscow. Besides, it was a part of the city that Jack thought westerners didn't venture into very often, so the likelihood that the place was wired was lower than places down town. _And_ he wanted to get a feel for the area in which Ennis lived. Just in case he needed to come here again… sometime.…

By three o'clock Jack was smoking outside the entrance of the cinema, two tickets to a re-run of an old movie in his pocket. The place wasn't particularly busy, partly because of the time of the day, partly because of the weather, but it suited Jack just fine. He hoped Ennis didn't mind seeing an oldie, though—he had said he just wanted to talk, right? They had one and a half hours to kill before the movie started and they could always hang out some more afterwards, if the guy had more to say. Jack chuckled to himself, imagining Ennis filling the one and a half hours they had with small talk. Yeah, right, he'd better have all his ammunition ready.

He caught sight of Ennis when the young man emerged at the far end of the small square in front of the movie theater, a few hundred meters away. Ennis saw him right away, too, and quickened his pace, his lips slowly easing into the crooked little smile that Jack could visualize with his eyes closed. He took a deep breath, trying to suppress the sudden wave of nervousness.

"Hey, Ennis. How are you?" he greeted him in Russian, thrusting his hand out and smiling broadly.

Ennis's long fingers wrapped around Jack's hand and he wondered again at their strength.

"Privet, Jack. Sorry, I'm late."

"Nah, it's only five minutes… I've bought tickets to 'Moscow Doesn't Believe In Tears'. Is it okay?"

Ennis nodded and smiled a little. "Sure. It's fine."

"Good. It starts at four-thirty. Hope you don't mind waiting."

"No. I can handle an hour and a half." The corners of Ennis's mouth twitched, his eyes warm as he studied Jack's face.

"Alright, then. Let's go inside and find a bite at the cafeteria. I haven't had my lunch yet, so I'm starving."

Jack turned to go inside, but Ennis caught him by his arm, then just as quickly let go.

"Wait. Do you want to go somewhere else to eat? They only have snacks here, you know." His expression now was one of concern.

"That's alright. Bet they have buterbrods with ham and cheese. That will keep me going for a while. Let's go in."

Usually Jack would be cranky if he didn't have his meal on time, but today, he didn't feel like wasting time on looking for someplace to get a proper meal.

The cafeteria was upstairs. It comprised a glass cabinet with a selection of three varieties of _buterbrods_ (two-bite sized, barely-buttered bread topped with paper thin slices of either processed ham or cheese), virtually bare shelves behind the counter and a dozen aluminum tables with matching chairs, only a third of which were occupied. A few minutes later Jack carefully sat a plate stacked high with snacks on the plastic top of the table at the far end of the hall. Ennis set two bottles of Pepsi and two glasses on the table and looked skeptically at Jack's lunch of a dozen slices of _buterbrods_.

"You sure that would be enough for you?"

Jack sat down and smiled reassuringly at the younger man. He found he shared an affinity with the Russians for a proper meal taken in due time.

"Don't worry. I'll get myself another helping if it's not enough. Sit down and relax." He took one _buterbrod_ and bit off half of it. "I've had worse. So, Ennis… you wanted 'just to talk', right? Tell me."

Ennis's ears pinked, but he didn't drop his gaze. "It's my turn, right?" he asked, like he was picking up from where they had left off the last time, almost two months ago. "What do you want me to tell you about?"

_About the original nuclear winter project your grandfather ran… About what it is that you and Dr. Alexin disagree about with your grandfather and Prof. Ackerman… About what you're gonna do now that you know what I'm like… What're you gonna do about it, Ennis? What you gonna do?..._

"Tell me what you like more, researching nuclear physics or singing in a band. And why."

It was his day off, goddamn it, and he wanted to pretend for a moment that he wasn't behind the Iron Curtain, that he was just hanging out with his best friend on a rainy Sunday afternoon, talking about things he had never discussed in earnest with anyone before.

Ennis told Jack about how he had first touched a guitar at the age of seven and never looked back; about his constant battle with his family and his teachers, and later on with himself, over who he should be, a scientist or a rocker; about how in the end he had negotiated a deal with them, that he would do what they wanted in exchange for them letting him be and do what he wanted. Math, physics and later nuclear physics had come easy to Ennis and he had never lost any sleep over them. Music, on the other hand, was a different story. Firstly, he had only taken guitar and basic music theory classes at the district's Palace of Young Pioneers; then he taught himself by playing back the songs of Jimmy Hendrix, the Eagles and Cream that he had copied from borrowed, non-professional records. When Ennis had started writing his own songs, they came about with heartbreak—his father had died that year. He was the only person through whom Ennis had felt a strange connection with California, a place he had always dreamed of visiting one day. With his father gone, it was like the dream had died, too. Maybe that was why his songs had been so sad, and why he didn't play them to others often, except to his closest friends.

Then Ennis asked Jack about his ranch in California and Jack described his ranch to the young man, down to the smallest details: he knew exactly what it looked like. How it would look like, one day.

They didn't notice the time passing and almost missed the beginning of the film, one of the Soviet all-time favorite movies about love found and love lost. They sat on the last row of the half empty theater, their knees touching, sometimes their arms, and occasionally their fingers, and Jack thought he had never felt so close to anyone, so intimate—a feeling that was both frightening and exhilarating.

What he also told himself was, when the time came to move ahead with his operation, it wouldn't be… shouldn't be much of a problem to just snap out of this dream world where he and Ennis, this amazing young man, were best of friends.

* * *

**A/N:**

'Kharasho': 'alright', 'good'.

'Moscow Doesn't Believe In Tears': a 1980 Soviet film, directed by Vladimir Menshov. It won an Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film in 1980.

Palace of Young Pioneers: A pioneer movement is an organization for children operated by a communist party. Originated in the USSR in 30s, Palaces of Young Pioneers were youth centers designated for the creative work, sport training and extracurricular activities of Young Pioneers and other schoolchildren. (From Wikipedia).

* * *

_Soundtrack: How Deep Is Your Love, Bee Gees_


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: the names of the main characters are not mine.

Rating: PG-15

Warnings: bad language, angst. WIP.

* * *

- 7 -

On Monday the first thing Jack did was ask Tanya, one of their local team assistants, to apply for three temporary guest passes to the Lenin Library—two for the Berkeley team members and one for himself. He told her to let him know immediately if there were any complications, because he wanted them before the American group completed their exchange program and left the country, not after.

Then he spent two hours writing a three-page report on his dealings with locals over the weekend. Lara and her father featured prominently in it, as did Ennis Volkonsky. What he didn't include was Lara's attempt to seduce him.

Later on, during the team meeting with William, Glen and Todd, he suggested that maybe William could make a recommendation to Ambassador Hart to invite one of Bolshoi Theatre's prima-donnas to one of the official receptions at his residence, along with the Deputy Minister Novikov and his daughter. Especially his daughter. She might be an excellent conduit to convince the Soviets during negotiations of the cultural exchange agreement—the process had been in limbo for the last three months, hadn't it? Glen jumped at the idea, but William just stared at him for a moment, interest fighting over skepticism in his eyes. His boss didn't say anything in the end, just moved on with their other projects. Fine.

Running into Frank on guard at the steel door on the ninth floor caused Jack to mull over his dilemma of whether to mention to William that the Marines had been taking girls to their rooms. Girls who had claimed to be German but didn't look it, in his opinion.

Before their departure, Moscow-bound case officers had been briefed that one of their Station's functions was to counter any attempt by the Sovs to penetrate the Embassy. The Station was supposed to cooperate with the State Department's Regional Security Officer in all matters related to the Embassy and its staff. By this time, however, Jack had come to realize that his bosses were more interested in running agents and collecting information than in the tedious work of protecting the Embassy. From their casual remarks dropped here and there, Jack reckoned cooperation with the RSO wasn't very high on their list of priorities. Therefore, he figured, William wouldn't do much if he told him about the Marines incident. He decided to let it pass this time round but would mention it to the RSO the next time he noticed any such irregularities. Besides, he empathized with the young, sex-deprived Marines, for whom recreational activities in which they could engage in were severely limited in this country. Not to mention the fact that Jack hung out with some of them and they considered him a friend.

Conversations during lunch, over beers after hours on Monday and for the next two days were dominated by two headline stories: Gorbachev's letter to Reagan with a proposal that included a fifty percent cutback in offensive nuclear weapons, and the new $27 million aid package to the Nicaraguan _contras _administrated by the State Department. Another story that resurfaced in the press was about the Rainbow Warrior incident from back in July. American newspapers followed the soul-searching of the French who were still speculating about whether the plot to sink the troublesome ship had been 'originated' at the level of the Minister of Defense, who had resigned, and the Director of the intelligence agency, who had been fired, or whether it had come from the higher up.

On Thursday, two new stories became the main topics of conversation at Uncle Sam's and in the American community in general. The FBI had launched a widespread search for Theodore Lee Ward, an ex-CIA officer who was suspected of selling information to the KGB. And Rock Hudson, who had chosen to bring the cause of his incurable ailment to the attention of the concerned and puzzled public, had died of AIDS.

Both stories unsettled Jack, albeit in different ways.

The fact that the Ward guy was still at large meant that he might continue providing information to the KGB and thus compromising more assets. That is, if he had been the one responsible for the series of recent roll-ups. Four so far this year, according to Joe, excluding the British agent that Jack had accidentally helped exfiltrate in July.

The second item reminded Jack of his resolution to test himself for AIDS at a blood donation center, somewhere outside the country and the sooner the better. Which reminded him that he had had unprotected sex with Ennis. Which further reminded him that he had yet to send Joe a message with 'seawater' code. In the meanwhile, his friendship with Ennis Del Mar Volkonsky seemed to have progressed to a new stage. _And_ Jack was going to see him again in two days—at his own place, for an American burger and ribs dinner. Which, in turn, might progress their 'relationship' even further, one way or another.

When Glen left for the day, Jack spent an hour trying to formulate in his mind the message he was going to transmit to his Head of Ops about Op Light Water. By 6:30 p.m. an innocuous communication had gone out to a mail stop address at the headquarters of the USIA, with code words 'seawater' and 'yellow', for low emergency status, embedded in the text. Two hours later, the communication was picked up by a clerk dispatched from the general services at Langley.

On Friday morning Jack received a coded response confirming that his message had been read and instructing him to wait till further notice.

Jack put down the communication and sighed in relief. He had been nervous what his 'seawater' message would bring down on him—a face to face meeting with Joe no doubt, where he would have to report about his progress with the target. Jack wasn't quite sure yet if the young man was a KGB informant or an innocent victim of their elaborate honey trap for him. Or if he was indeed just a clueless target selected by the Agency and the NSA for their joint operation because of his heritage. What Jack was pretty sure of, though, was that Ennis Del Mar Volkonsky was queer as a two dollar bill – just what the NSA folks had been dreaming of.

So now, with the meeting delayed 'till further notice' – and God only knew what would happen in the meantime – Jack had plenty of time to reflect and figure how to go about this whole affair. Including what to do about fact that he got hard just thinking about the guy. Which was pretty much most of his free time nowadays. _And_ he still needed to get himself tested for AIDS, if he was to continue to 'develop' his star agent along the lines of the 'seawater' part of Op Light Water… _Is that right?_ Okay, so he had to do it because he was planning on hanging out with Ennis and couldn't wait to find a place where he could get another taste of the mind-blowing sex he had had with him once.

...

On Saturday morning Mariya Ivanovna, who helped to clean Jack's apartment and do his laundry once a week, came earlier than usual at his request. She was done and left just before noon. Jack made the final inspection of his place: the Panasonic TV set had come back from the repair shop at the Embassy the previous day; five VHS tapes with LiveAid recordings were stacked neatly on top of the VCR; the fridge was fully stocked with imported canned beer, ham, sausages, cheese, fruits and a carton of Marlboros from a duty free shop; a couple of bottles of Stolichnaya and loaves of brown bread from a local store nearby were lined up on top of the fridge.

His bedroom looked tidy and fresh, too, almost homely, and it was a shame that he would never be able to use it for anything more than sleeping in. And jerking off occasionally. Unless he decided to bring a girl home. Some foreign girl, not local… Someone from the contractor crowd… Or maybe Stella—that girl seemed always to be on the lookout for a fresh piece of ass and wouldn't insist on a relationship. Yeah, now that Amanda was gone, he should seriously think about it… It would be good for his legend, would add another layer of safety so that he could spend more time with…

Jack sighed, turned around and walked to the door where he put on his cowboy boots and paramilitary jacket, took his keys and left the apartment.

He lingered for three hours at Uncle Sam's, where he had his lunch at the bar, shared a beer with old JB, the Embassy's courier-in-residence, then waited till Luigi, the diner's chef, handed him his order of ready-to-be-grilled burgers and ribs in a large plastic bag.

Jack returned home just after 4:00p.m., feeling strangely anxious. It was the first 'reception' he was throwing at his apartment here _and_ for the type of guests he had never entertained before. Shouldn't be too different from the kind of blowouts he used to have at his place when he was at Cal State, should it? They were students, too, even if not entirely the same as his classmates back in California. The difference was that their visit to his place might implicate them, and Jack too, with the omnipresent Soviet organs, whose attention nobody in this country cared for – unless they worked for these _organs_ in the first place. The question was who amongst them did?

On Friday, he and William had gone over the list of Jack's guests and focused on those who were at the top of the Moscow Station's list of suspects: Lara, Ennis, Grisha, Anya. However, when Jack had called Lara the previous night to fix the time when he would meet them on the street and take them past the _militzia_ men to his place, she had said she wouldn't be able to come this time. Her father wanted her to go with him to the dinner at his boss's place. She had apologized profusely and told him to arrange the pickup time with Ennis.

Jack had dialed Ennis immediately, only to find out that just five of them would be coming to his place: the Wings crew minus Alex, the bass guitarist, and Anton. Ennis had apologized for the last minute drop-outs, but instead of making up some story about his friends' busy social schedule, he had gone on explaining in a pained voice that visiting the house of an American diplomat was not something every Soviet student was comfortable doing. He had hoped Jack understood.

Jack did. Couldn't blame them. But it also meant that the Moscow Station might need to revisit its list of the informant suspects. Maybe they were completely off the mark about this group of young people.

...

He came down to meet them on the street at half past six, ushered them past the _militzia_ guard and into his apartment building. As they waited for the geriatric elevator, a group of five African children aged six to twelve ran down the stairs and past them out into the courtyard, squealing and waving toy swords and guns. Seeing the baffled looks on his guests' faces, Jack explained that they were the children of Angolan diplomats who lived on the first three floors.

"It's like in our dorm," exclaimed Anton. "We have a lot of African students, too. Right, Yura?"

Yura, the band's lead guitarist, nodded, trying to make his surprise less obvious, and mumbled, 'Right, Anton.' He was older than the rest of the band members, longhaired and easygoing, a geology post-grad student from the MGU.

Up in Jack's apartment, the young people crowded for a minute in the corridor, taking off their jackets and inspecting his dwelling with unhidden interest mixed with poorly concealed surprise. Jack wasn't sure what exactly they had expected to see at his place, but obviously not a standard, Soviet type accommodation, furnished with imported but well-used fixtures and equipment.

"Have you been living here long, Jack?" Seva asked, trying to sound casual. He took off his shoes and proceeded into the sitting room in his socks, followed by Yura.

"Since March. I inherited this apartment, as well as my job from the guy who used to live here. He had to return home unexpectedly, for health reasons. The place was fully furnished, so I thought, why bother re-furnishing it?" Jack explained, smiling sheepishly, and threw a quick glance at Ennis.

He was taciturn as usual, but looked more relaxed and smiled more easily like he had left a layer or two of his invisible armor at home. He was the only one who didn't look surprised, just curious. Jack also noticed that Ennis quickly checked him out as he was taking off his black short jacket.

Apparently, so did Anton.

"Jack, you look like you completely fit into our Soviet surroundings, even in your American clothes." He waved his hand at Jack's denims and boots. "It's totally cool!"

Seva rolled his eyes at that and Vadim, the Wings' keyboardist, tried to suppress a smirk.

Jack grinned at the boy. "Thanks, Anton. It's fine, isn't it? I've lived in worse conditions, so can't complain." He shepherded Anton into the sitting room where the table was laid out with bread, cold cuts and drinks.

"Really? Where?"

"In America. I'll tell you later, alright? First let me get you guys drinks and start the grill. Please make yourself at home… The LiveAid tapes are on the VCR. Feel free to put them on if you want to watch them right away," he added, seeing the boys' furtive glances towards his TV and tape recorder.

They thanked him almost in unison and Seva quickly proceeded to turn on the TV and the VCR, while Vadim and Yura checked out the covers of the tapes on which the names of the performers were written in tiny but neat handwriting.

Jack left them playing with the tapes and went to start the grill in the kitchen.

After a few minutes, Ennis appeared at the kitchen door. He shuffled his feet for a moment, hands stuck deep in his jeans' pockets, before asking shyly, "Can I help… uh, with anything?"

"What, you don't care to watch the concert with your friends?" Jack teased, feeling exuberant. He walked over to the fridge near the kitchen's door.

"I hope you'll lend me the tapes," Ennis said, like he was certain that Jack would. "I'll make copies… For everybody."

Jack open the fridge and pulled out two trays with burgers and marinated ribs, his eyes flicking back and forth from the trays to the young man, smiling wide. "Alright. You can help me by washing the tomatoes, cucumbers and spring onions. They're in the plastic bag on the windowsill… Here's a bowl." He pulled a big painted ceramic bowl from the cupboard and turned to hand it to Ennis.

The young man walked up to him and took the bowl from Jack's hands, his fingers covering Jack's for a moment. He gazed at Jack with an expression that Jack remembered seeing on his face when he was telling Jack about his childhood. The corners of his lips were curling up in his usual shy little smile.

"Jack, I—"

"And I'll only lend you the tapes if you promise to return them in a couple of weeks," Jack said a fraction louder than before, shaking his head emphatically. He tapped lightly on his ear with his forefinger and pointed at the ceiling.

The lost look on Ennis's face eased and he nodded. "I promise to return them in two weeks," he said in the same tone as Jack, chuckled quietly and sauntered to the window, brushing shoulders with him as he passed.

Jack sighed. He would need to talk to the boy, tell him that he really should be more discreet in public. Even with his friends, whom Ennis obviously trusted. Even when they all accepted Jack as their new friend. Even if one's personal space here was considerably tighter than in America and casual touching and even hugging between male friends was nothing out of the ordinary. He just needed to be very careful, that boy.

Well, provided he wasn't doing it for a purpose…

...

The evening was a hit. By the second tape they'd finished their third helping with three rounds of beer and the boys moved to the sofa to have an un-obstructive view of the TV screen. Seva, Vadim and Yura lounged on the three-seater, their arms and legs touching, with Anton sitting on the carpeted floor, leaning back against the couch, his head almost resting on Seva's lap. Ennis sprawled out on a chair next to Yura, who slapped him on his leg excitedly from time to time, commenting on a passage from the song they had just heard and seen. They were completely at home, sometimes ignoring Jack and sometimes talking to him like he was part of their tight-knit group, asking for his opinion, then booing him down when Jack said with a straight face he liked Sabrina and Modern Talking.

Jack sat next to Ennis, his chair turned back to front and positioned slightly further back from the TV, the better to see the young man out of the corner of his eye. After a while he stood up, dropping his hand casually on Ennis's shoulder, and asked if everyone would like tea or coffee. He was rewarded with happy cheers, nods and grins - including one from the person for whom he did it.

They didn't have another chance to be alone before the third video tape was finished and the gang suddenly realized that it was almost midnight and time to leave. While his guests were putting on their shoes and jackets at the door, Jack dashed into the kitchen. He scribbled a few words on the edge of a local newspaper, tore it off and rolled it into a small ball. Then he turned to take a plastic bag with salami and canned ham out of the fridge and hurried back to his guests. He gave Anton the bag, saying that it was a belated birthday present from him. It provoked a torrent of thanks and compliments from the very pleased boy and approving nods and smiles from the rest of the crowd.

Jack saw his guests out to the street and accompanied them for a block towards the Metro station to make sure that they were not harassed by the _milizia_ men. When he noticed that he and Ennis were walking side-by-side behind the rest of the group, Jack pretended to stumble, bumped into Ennis and stealthily deposited the tiny paper ball into his jeans' back pocket. Ennis stopped and turned to look at him, asking, 'You alright?' Jack winked at him with an amused smirk and mouthed 'read at home'. The corners of Ennis's lips curled up and he nodded.

Back in his apartment, Jack quickly cleaned up the sitting room, grinning like a fool, stacking all the dirty dishes and cutlery into the sink for Mariya Ivanovna to wash up the next morning. For once he was pleased with what he had been taught at the Farm—the brush-pass skills once again proving to be useful. He hoped that Ennis would be pleased too when he got home and found the note which said, 'will call tomorrow 4 o'clock'.

* * *

_Soundtrack: Wind of Change, by Scorpions_


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: the names of the main characters are not mine.

Rating: NC-17/R

Warnings: bad language, angst. WIP.

* * *

- 8 -

The weather had been just short of perfect since Thursday: warm and sunny and radiant, and even the bare trees looked frugally elegant, like in a Chinese aquarelle, against the cloudless blue sky. It was as if the autumn had decided to make a final statement before giving in to months of miserable cold.

Jack got home from the monthly international softball game, between American and English-Australian teams this time, just after two o'clock. He quickly showered, put on a pair of dark, nondescript slacks, a plaid shirt and old tennis shoes, took his jean jacket and left again. He flagged down a taxi four blocks from his apartment, alighted not far from Revolution Square downtown, then took the Metro to _Izmailovky Park_, around ten clicks to the north-east of the city center. There was an informal art and flea market at the northern end of the vast park that the authorities let the locals run. One could find just about anything here, from decent paintings and sculptures by little known artist to broken brick-a-brack that could be categorized as antique, to goat-fur socks, shawls and gloves, and pickled mushrooms sold by _babushkas_. Besides this semi-official entrepreneurial outlet and the formal 'recreational and cultural park', Izmailovo also featured one of the largest urban forests within the boundaries of Moscow. It was the perfect place to lose oneself, either alone amongst the multitude of people milling around the marketplace, or with a friend in the miles and miles of woods.

Even if it was on the other end of the town from the district where Ennis lived.

At four o'clock he called Ennis from a _taxophone_ half a mile from the Metro station.

Ennis picked up on the second ring, sounding a little rushed. "_Da_."

"_Privet_, Ennis. It's me."

"Hello, Jack."

Ennis didn't say anything else but Jack knew he was waiting for Jack to tell where he wanted them to meet.

"I'm at _Izmailovsky Park_."

"You want me to come out there?" Ennis offered without a slightest hesitation.

"Can you?"

"Sure. I'll be on my way in five minutes."

"You taking the Metro?"

The Metro was usually the fastest way to get anywhere in town—_if_ you lived near a Metro station. Jack didn't know how far from the Metro Ennis lived. It could be an hour and a half or even more, if he didn't live anywhere near it.

"I'll drive. It will be faster. I should be there in forty-five, fifty minutes. Where shall I meet you?"

"I'll wait for you at the exit of the Metro station. Say, at five?"

"Alright. I'll be there at five," he stated firmly and hung up.

Jack couldn't hold back a smile, feeling jubilant and edgy at the same time. He placed the receiver back and strolled towards the flea market, occasionally making stealthy checks behind him to see if he had any followers today. Once again, he didn't have a tail. And that left him with mixed feelings, yet again. He tried to push out of his mind the implications of not being covered and instead focus on enjoying the beautiful, sunny afternoon. Which he would soon be spending with Ennis Del Mar Volkonsky. With his friend Ennis… In thirty five minutes. Thirty five? He thought an hour had passed already since he'd talked to him…

At 5:00 p.m. Jack was leaning against the front wall of the bulky, square-columned structure that was the exit of the Metro station Izmailovky Park. He was halfway through his cigarette when he saw Ennis appear from behind the left corner of the building.

He was wearing a pair of stone-washed jeans and a purplish-grey long sleeved jersey, carrying the rolled up jeans jacket in his left hand. If fact, he looked more foreign than Jack today. More American, if Jack was asked for an opinion – someone you could easily run into almost anywhere in San Francisco or even Washington.

Ennis strolled up straight to him and they shook hands.

"Sorry. I'm late again," he said in Russian and smiled apologetically. "Had to look for a place to park."

"No worries. I'm just having a smoke here." Jack smiled back, feeling ridiculously pleased.

Ennis gave him a look over. "You look different today."

"I do?" The guy was observant, too, wasn't he?

"Yeah. Thought you always wore denim clothes," he noted shyly, but didn't break the eye contact.

In fact he was gazing into Jack's eyes as if searching for answers to all the questions of his life.

Jack shrugged. "Yes, I normally do. But sometimes you want to look like everybody else around you… Right?"

The smile slipped off Ennis's face and he didn't respond right away. "Right. I understand," he finally said and nodded solemnly.

"Great… So, what would you say we take a walk in the park? We can talk some more… Maybe we can go to a movie later on…"

Jack was not sure yet how far he wanted to go with Ennis today. _Yeah, right_. Alright, so he hadn't figured out a place yet for what he really had in mind for Ennis. With Ennis. He was struggling to come up with such a place, where he could… take the operation to the next level. But he didn't have anybody here with whom he could brainstorm about this part of the op so he had to scramble on his own.

Jack saw that Ennis had noticed his hesitation, but the young man didn't say anything, just nodded and smiled a little. Jack thought he heard him stifle a sigh as he turned away.

They headed towards the park, in silence at first; then as they entered the park's grounds, Jack turned to his companion.

"You know what, I've decided that I should learn more about the nuclear winter theory that you guys are working on."

Ennis looked at him in surprise, but didn't say anything, waiting for him to continue.

"I mean, I want to know everything about it: how it started, why, where, by whom etc. Well, you told me bits and pieces about it already, but I want to do it my own little research project. And I'd also like to understand why you guys seem to disagree on… On whatever you disagree."

"You do?"

"Yeah, sure. You see, I've handled quite a number of projects so far, but have never really taken time to get to the heart of any of them. In my line of business, you don't really need to get to the heart of the matter to be able to facilitate a project. Understanding the gist of it usually suffices. Most important thing is knowing what's required of you." Actually, this was as true of his covert activity as of the overt one.

"Why the nuclear winter theory? It's not the only project you're in charge of, is it?" Ennis asked, sounding skeptical. He stared straight ahead as they turned left from the central alley onto a small lane that led deep into the park.

And Jack had thought that the guy would be pleased that he was interested in his project. What was his problem, anyway? Or was it Jack who was not getting something about Ennis?

"No, it's not. But I thought that… maybe you'd help me with this one?"

Ennis turned to look at him, understanding lighting up his face. "You want _me_ to help you?"

"Yes, Ennis. If you don't mind, of course."

"No, I don't! Sorry, I thought you were going to… Never mind. Yes, I'll help you, Jack." He hesitated for a moment before adding, "Although, I must admit, it's not one of my favorite subjects."

"Is it not? Why so?" Jack looked at him in surprise. "Thought since your grandfather was the acknowledged author of this theory, you would be keen on it... No?"

Ennis shrugged. "He is one of the original authors, yes. And so was Dr. Alexin. And he had a different interpretation of the modeling results. Somehow we keep forgetting that."

"How different is this different?"

"You want technical details or just a snapshot?" The corners of Ennis's mouth inched up.

"A snapshot will do for now. You haven't trained me on the technical aspects of it yet, remember?" Jack teased back.

"Fine… Let me ask you first: have you ever been to London?"

"No, I haven't. Why?"

"Neither have I." Ennis shook his head, pokerfaced. "But I've read that they have heavy smogs there often… Don't suppose you've been to Mars, either." He turned to check on Jack's reaction and grinned when he saw Jack staring at him, mystified. "Just preparing the ground for the snapshot."

"Ah, alright."

"So, in very rough strokes, here's the snapshot: grandfather's model projects that the area where _all_ nuclear bombs are dropped will resemble Mars; Dr. Alexin's model, on the other hand, projects that it'll resemble London in heavy smog."

"Right…"

"Admittedly, those conditions, whatever they were, would last for a long time."

"For how long?"

"For a month. Several months. Maybe a year… we don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know? What do the models show?"

Ennis sighed. "You see, the key problem of both models is that, irrespective of the meteorological uncertainties, the consequences of nuclear exchanges, the type we're modeling, are unpredictable. Incalculable."

"What does _that_ mean?" Jack was completely lost now.

Ennis stopped walking, turned to him. "It's hard to explain without technical details… Jack, do you mind if we drop this topic for now? Till you've read up on it? I'll give you reading materials. Is that alright?"

"Alright. I'll have a read. And I'll be interested to read the very first study on it. If you've got one."

"Fine. I'll see what I can find… Do you want to carry on along this path?"

They were standing at the end of the asphalted alley, which continued as a dirt path deep into the part of the park that merged into the forest.

Jack threw a quick glance behind them, then at the path, and finally at the young man standing next to him. The alley behind them was deserted and Ennis was waiting for his answer patiently, his glance flicking from Jack's eyes to his mouth and back.

_Damn._ Jack knew the need so goddamn well.

"Yeah, let's continue." He smiled weakly and swallowed, conscious of the heat that had ignited below his waist and started spreading.

They sat off along the pathway that was carpeted with fallen leaves and framed by groves of birches, aspens, ashes and maple trees, some of them bare, some still trying to hold onto their pale green, yellow and russet foliage, the late afternoon sun tinting the forest in a translucent, shimmering golden hue. They walked side by side for a few minutes, the silence becoming more charged each passing second, the yearning almost palpable. Then Ennis stepped off the trail and, without looking to see if Jack was following him, headed into the birch grove on the left. Jack didn't hesitate for a second.

When the trail disappeared from the sight, Ennis stopped abruptly and turned around. He took a quick step back as Jack was still walking forward and they collided in a full-bodied embrace, hands flying everywhere, trying to grab and pull the other as close as humanly possible, mouths hungrily fumbling for a place to land, lips to devour, taste to savor.

"Jaack…" Ennis moaned into his neck, just below his ear, the sound sending an electrical current through Jack's body.

"Yeah," he rasped, grinding his hardness against Ennis's, trying to catch his mouth again.

Jack wasn't big on kissing, but this, Jesus, this was just… No, he couldn't find the words for _this_ right now. But he didn't need words; all he needed was _this_…

Ennis propelled him backwards and pushed against the nearest birch tree, his shaking hands struggling to unbutton Jack's shirt in an attempt to get closer to his chest and shoulders. Jack held Ennis's head fast between his hands, his tongue deep in Ennis's eager mouth.

A young voice suddenly called out somewhere nearby, "Come on, Grandma. That's enough. We've got an almost full basket of mushrooms already. Can we go home now?"

An elderly voice grumbled something in response, sounding further away.

Ennis wrenched out of Jack's hands and jerked back two steps, looking past Jack, wide-eyed, still breathing heavily.

Jack snapped back to reality. "Ennis," he hissed, quickly buttoning up his shirt with swift fingers, the part of his mind that was trained for hostile situations immediately in control. "Ennis, look at me." He smiled reassuringly when the young man looked at him. "They haven't seen us, alright? Your clothes…"

Ennis looked down, adjusted himself and let out a shaky breath. "I'm sorry," he whispered in English, avoiding Jack's eyes.

"It's alright, Ennis," Jack responded quietly, in English too.

It was not alright. In fact, it was one totally unsatisfactory situation, but what could he do? What could _they_ do?

"Let's get ourselves out of here." Ennis nodded gloomily and Jack's heart sank a little. "We'll figure something out. Don't worry." He didn't have a solution, but felt compelled to say something to cheer the young man up just a little.

They headed back towards the path and in a minute caught up with the mushroom hunters, a young teenage girl and her grandma, a woman in her early sixties, with a basketful of mushrooms and a bouquet of pretty golden leaves in their hands. Ennis only nodded to the women, but Jack greeted them, asked them about their trophies and they parted ways, the womenfolk marching back to the park's main alley, they in the opposite direction.

They strode along in silence for a few minutes, hands deep in their pockets, each man watching his own feet, half a meter of empty space between them.

Finally Jack sighed and said, "There must be a place, right? I just don't trust any place that I know here… I wish we were back home, in California..."

Ennis stopped and turned to him. "What about my place?"

Jack stopped too, turned around and peered into Ennis's face. He didn't know that he could trust Ennis's place either. But then, if this was part of the ploy to get him, then he might as well take advantage of the situation, right? He would get another taste of this great lay and let them frame him… He wasn't going to make it easy for them, though.

"You sure you want to bring a foreigner home?"

"We can wait till it's dark. There won't be many people out and around… And if someone asks, we'll tell them that you're an _aspirant_. A Russian language post-grad student… From Yugoslavia."

_Wow, that's a lot of words from you, friend. _"From Yugoslavia, huh?" Jack watched the young man with interest.

"Yes. Nobody will know you're not… Maybe we won't even meet anyone…"

Oh, fuck it, he would think of how to report about this unplanned visit to Ennis's apartment later. It just so happened that in the course of his assignment Ennis invited him and he decided that it was a perfect follow-up to the Russians' visit to his place the day before. A great opportunity for building a rapport with his target, right?

"Okay, Ennis. Let's do it. Your place, then." He was all business again, suddenly feeling such uplift that he laughed quietly. "After dark, right? So, let's go back in the park and find something to eat. Before it gets dark."

They turned back and walked quickly to the market area. The place was winding down for the day and was almost empty, most of the buyers and peddlers gone. They found the last _shashlyk_ stall still open, bought the remaining three skewers of grilled pork and two bottles of warm _Baltika_ beer for three rubles, and ate their dinner standing up at a barely-cleaned high table near the stall. They chatted to the elderly Armenian couple who ran the stall as they were closing down for the night – mostly Jack did, told them that he was from Yugoslavia, his name was YanisVoykovich and he was doing his post-grad dissertation on the _Decembrists_ at the MGU. He threw a quick glance Ennis's way as he was telling the couple his story and laughed when he saw poorly hidden astonishment on the young man's face.

After their dinner, they picked up Ennis's car and drove to Beliayevo, the district where Ennis lived. They took a roundabout route, staying out until close to 9:00 p.m., the time when most Soviet families would be gathering around their TV sets for the evening news, some with their dinners. They didn't talk much, comfortable in their companionable silence, sharing a cigarette, then another one and listening to Soviet pop and oldies on Radio Moskva. When they were nearing Ennis's district, they agreed that Jack would get out on the main road, wait for fifteen minutes, then would walk up to Ennis's apartment on his own, trying to make it unobvious who he was visiting in the old and grey twelve-story building.

It was dark when Ennis stopped at a curb near a side lane that led into the housing area. He repeated his entrance and apartment numbers twice, looking at Jack intently, like he was trying to make sure that Jack wasn't going to change his mind.

Jack smiled and patted the young man on his knee. "I'll see you in fifteen minutes or so." He didn't feel as confident as he knew he appeared, though.

When Ennis's car took off in the direction of the housing block, Jack lingered on the curb of the main street for a moment, lighting a cigarette while covertly checking his surroundings. Aside from the light traffic on the road, the sidewalks were virtually empty. Satisfied with his inspection, Jack walked in the direction the car had gone, towards the inner courtyards and multiple entrances of the vast apartment block.

He only ran into one young couple, scurrying toward the entrance to the right of Ennis's. They looked curiously at Jack, but didn't say anything. He rode the elevator to the sixth floor, then took the stairs the rest of the way up, just in case.

As he was standing in front of the door of Ennis's apartment on the tenth floor, Jack could hear the opening lines of the national news program _Vremya,_ The Time, from behind the three neighbors' doors. He took a deep breath, not sure what was making him so nervous—the prospect of being framed by the KGB here, tonight, or… No, that was it. He was nervous because he might be framed by the KGB—that was a normal reaction, wasn't it?

The door opened almost as soon as he pressed on the bell, as though Ennis had been standing right behind it, waiting. His face creased into a relieved smile when he saw Jack.

"Come in." He let Jack in and closed the door quickly behind him. "Come in, please," he repeated, in English this time. "Please make yourself at home."

"Thanks, Ennis. I'll try." Jack nodded and smiled, then took a few steps inside.

The apartment was a standard Soviet affair: a short and narrow corridor leading to two rooms to the left of the door and, to the right, a toilet, a bathroom and a kitchen, in that order. Not too different from the one Jack lived in, with two small bedrooms along a narrow corridor and a sitting room at the end. It had a familiar smoky smell about it too, a masculine smell, and also the smell of burnt wire and coffee and the fresh, grassy scent of soap. From where he stood near the door, Jack could see only a small part of the furnishing in the sitting room—mahogany-colored wall cabinets, a corner of a table and a chair of the same color, a thin woven carpet on the floor.

There was a metallic click at the door, the sound of the chain lock falling into place. Jack let out a quiet exhale: there would be no staged break-in today then, the type he had been told about at the Farm, when a foreigner is caught red-handed at the place of his local 'friend' doing something illegal—like making out with him, for example—and then blackmailed into working for the _organs_.

"Are you hungry?" Ennis asked behind his back.

Jack turned around.

"Or maybe tea... or coffee…"

The young man stood close behind him, hands deep in his pockets, biting the inside of his lower lip, looking like he was not sure what he was supposed to do next. His eyes were dark and smoldering. And he was staring at Jack's mouth again, with that hungry look that was becoming so familiar so quickly.

Jack took a step forward, reached out, caught him by the front of his jersey and pulled him close. "Yes, I'll have some… later," he whispered hotly, leaned in and covered the young man's mouth with his.

Ennis's arms wrapped around him immediately and he pressed his whole body into Jack's, aroused and breathless already. He went straight back to unbuttoning Jack's shirt, letting Jack devour his mouth. When he was done with the buttons, he pushed the shirt off Jack's shoulders, peeled his undershirt off his body, pulled back a little and rasped, "Lemme look at you."

"What?" Jack opened his eyes, trying to understand why the exquisite pressure had gone from his body.

"I wanna see you…" He raised both of his hands, touched Jack's face, then shoulders, traced them down his chest, his sides, his back – the caresses feather-light, as if Jack's body was some precious object that should be handled with the utmost care. "I think I'm gonna come just by looking at you," he murmured, breathing heavily, his eyes hazed over, like he was going to shoot any second.

"No, wait!" Jack shook him up by his biceps. "Not yet." He started unfastening Ennis's belt quickly with one hand, working on his own with the other. "Have to lose these… C'mon, Ennis!"

Ennis snapped out of his near gone state and started feverishly pulling off his jersey, together with his t-shirt.

"Bedroom?"

"Yeah…"

They fought their way to the bedroom, leaving pieces of clothing scattered on the floor, unable to keep their hands off each other for even a moment. They fell on the bed, still not fully unclothed, arms and legs around each other, rutting against each other like they were trying to crawl into one another's skin.

It didn't take long for them to reach the place where nothing else mattered but them, both were so far gone. And when they came, one after the other, each stifled his joy against the other's body, the last shreds of awareness reminding them to keep it down, even within the confines of their own private space. Then both drifted off, stunned and washed-out by the explosive power of their releases, still tangled up like they were never going to let go. And in the fleeting moment before sleep overtook him, Jack wished that the intensity of these sensations, this inexplicable ecstasy, would diminish the next time he did it with Ennis. Because he knew he couldn't, shouldn't let himself get addicted to… _this_. Whatever 'this' was that this man gave him.

* * *

_Soundtrack: I Wanna Know What Love Is, by Foreigner_


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: the names of the main characters are not mine.

Rating: NC-17/R

Warnings: bad language, angst. WIP.

* * *

- 9 -

When Jack woke up, the first thing that registered with him was the feeling of wholeness and peace he didn't remember having recently, or maybe ever. Like he belonged here, wherever it was that he was now, with someone lying next to him, their bare leg touching his, their breath on the side of his face.

He then recalled that he was at Ennis's place. That he had just had sex with him. In his bed.

Jack opened his eyes.

The room was full of shadows that skirted around a single source of light—an old lamp under a gold and brown shade on the bedside table to Jack's left, the side closest to the bedroom door. It looked cluttered with books and also some electronic equipment, but Jack couldn't make out just yet what it was, because his eyes immediately fastened on the man next to him.

Ennis was lying on his right side, folded arm under his head, watching Jack's face with a strange soft look in his eyes that Jack had caught on him twice before. Both times Ennis had dropped his gaze and his whole face had slammed shut. This time, though, he didn't take his eyes away and the expression stayed.

"Hey," Jack smiled at him, stretching a little. "You alright?" he asked in English.

"It was… um…" Ennis nodded once, knitted his eyebrows, looking a little pained, then blurted out, "Astounding… No!.. I have no right word for _it_."

"Mind blowing," Jack offered, his smile growing.

As was the pressure below his waist. He was not sure how long they had been dozing, but apparently it was enough for the sated feeling to wear off and the long neglected yearning to start building up again rapidly. Jack was a little surprised that he was so quickly back to where he had started earlier that day—horny as hell and a little anxious.

"That's right. And we haven't even done anything yet… Have we?" Ennis's expression was both shy and hopeful.

"No, we haven't."

Jack was aware that he was now grinning like a fool, but he didn't care. He really liked this man—he could read Jack's mind where it mattered. He rolled onto his side to face Ennis and pushed a knee between his legs, pulling the man close by his waist. "C'mere."

Ennis's breath hitched as his fully erect cock pressed into Jack's body. He extended his right arm under Jack's neck and wrapped it around his shoulders, his left arm grabbing and pulling at Jack's waist at the same time. He rocked against Jack, riding his thigh, his breath hot and heavy on Jack's face.

"I want you," he whispered, wrapping his fingers loosely around Jack's shaft and dragging them up and down as he rumbled, "Like last time."

"Okay… But not so fast," Jack sucked in a breath, trying not to give in to the overwhelming pleasure, not just yet. "We need to do this right this time."

"Yeah. Anything…" He reached for Jack's hand, pulled it down and pressed Jack's fingers into the crack of his ass.

Jack tried to unwrap himself from Ennis's embrace. "I need a condom, Ennis."

"A what?" Ennis stopped moving, pulled back a little and stared at Jack, his expression blank. He didn't let go of Jack's hand, though.

So he was right: Ennis didn't seem to be aware that men used precautions for sex between them too. Which meant he probably knew nothing about AIDS, either. Jack sighed. He wished he had told Ennis about AIDS while they were on their way here. Somehow he had felt it to be too forward, too clinical, to tell him about it at the time.

"I need to use a condom, Ennis. For _your_ protection."

Shit, why was it so hard? So he'd been with God knows who, so what? Why should he feel awkward telling a new guy about it?

"Why? Are you alright?" Ennis demanded, but there was only concern in his voice, not fear, not repulsion.

"I think I'm… I don't know, Ennis. I haven't got myself tested yet. We should have used it the first time, too. I just didn't think about it until... Never mind. I'm sorry."

He bit on his lip, pulled back his hand from Ennis's, rolled onto his back and sighed. Now he could forget about sex with Ennis.

Ennis eyebrows were still knitted together. "But what is it? What haven't you tested for?"

"You know anything about AIDS? Acquired immune deficiency syndrome?... No? I'll tell you all about it later. For right now, all you need to know is this, Ennis: you can contract it through unprotected sex; once you get _it_, it'll kill you, sooner or later. 'Cause there's no cure for _it_."

There was something like fear now in Ennis's eyes. But instead of moving away from Jack, he rocked forward onto Jack, put his palm flat on Jack's chest and peered deep into his eyes. "What about you?"

"No, I don't think I have it!" Jack shook his head vigorously. "Don't have any symptoms. And I've been, um, careful… for a long time now. But, still, I don't know for sure. And I want to be sure." He brushed the back of his fingers along Ennis's jaw. "Don't want any chance of you being exposed to shit like this, bud… Or anyone else, for that matter," he added and shrugged, startled by the hot wave of anxiety that unfurled from the pit of his stomach.

Ennis's expression relaxed, the corners of his lips arched up and he exhaled slowly. "You scared me… Thank you. For worrying about me." He leaned forward and nuzzled Jack's cheek.

"I'm sorry, Ennis. I should have thought about it—"

"Don't worry about it. I'll be fine. I'm sure you're fine, too." He sat up by Jack's side. "But if you think we should use a… eh, condom, okay, let's do that."

"You sure you still want me to—"

Ennis bent down and placed a quick, bruising kiss on his lips. "Yes, I want you. Told you, Jack: I'd never wanted anything like this," he whispered fiercely in Jack face and let out a sad chuckle. "You don't understand."

No, he didn't. Maybe it was a Russian thing. He'd try to figure it out later. For now, all he needed to know was that Ennis still wanted to fuck.

"Alright. Gimme a minute."

He sprang up from the bed, picked up his slacks near the door of the bedroom and fumbled for his wallet. He sensed rather than saw Ennis watching him intently as he pulled a pack of two condoms out of the wallet, which he stuffed back into the pocket and dropped the slacks on the floor. He returned to the bed and sat down on its edge, facing Ennis.

"Don't suppose you have lube," he said, feeling self-conscious, like he was some kind of slut.

"Have what?"

"Lube. Um, something you can use to lubricate, you know, make it nice and smooth… Trust me, you'll feel much better than last time," he added, seeing uncertainty on Ennis's face.

"Is it possible?"

Jack wiggled his eyebrows and grinned. "You'll see… How about cooking oil?"

"Yes, I have it. How much you need?" he asked matter-of-factly and got up from the bed, but Jack could see that the young man was feeling ill at ease with all these unfamiliar preparations.

"A liter should do it," Jack stated with a straight face, then let out a quiet laugh at Ennis's incredulous expression. "Just bring the bottle. We'll figure out here how much we need to make you beg for more."

Ennis nodded and headed towards the door. But he stopped in the doorway and looked at Jack over his shoulder. "You don't need lube for that, Jack," he said quietly and disappeared into the semi-darkness of the corridor.

When he got back with a bottle of sunflower oil, Jack took it from him silently, set it on the bedside table next to his condoms, and pulled the young man down to lie on his back next to him. Jack himself was almost ready just by thinking about what he was going to do with this unbelievable man.

"Tell me what you want, Ennis," he whispered huskily in the young man's ear, turning round into Ennis's side and cupping his heavy balls, fondling them gently.

Ennis's half-hard cock immediately sprang to life, responding to each of the movements of Jack's hands, his mouth, his body, each of its jolts and twitches pulsating through Jack's own erection.

"I want to look at you when you fuck me." He caught Jack's fingers and pushed them between his parted legs, towards his cleft. "Now, Jack… Please."

"Okay. _Now_ it is."

And Jack gave it to him, what Ennis wanted, the way Ennis wanted. He rocked into him slowly at first, with Ennis's legs over his shoulders, pumping his silky-hard rod with his oil-smeared hand in the same rhythm, then he picked up pace when Ennis closed his eyes, his head thrashing on the pillow, biting on the edge of one palm to stifle the moans. When Ennis erupted in his hand, Jack let himself fall over the edge, too, once again caught by surprise by the explosion of pure, undiluted pleasure. And by a tangle of emotions he didn't understand. Didn't want to think about them right then. And about the peculiar look in the Ennis's eyes that he didn't try to hide from Jack anymore. Bah, he was a Russian. They said for themselves that nobody could understand the Russian soul, so Jack shouldn't even pretend he did. Just let him be… Let be…

Jack woke up with a start, the thought that he was late for something immediately springing to mind. He opened his eyes and tried to roll onto his back, but couldn't. Only then did he become aware of an arm wrapped around his waist, a warm body pressed against his back, hot breath at the back of his neck.

_Ennis. _

The young man stirred behind him and pulled Jack closer into his front.

Jack looked at the round alarm clock on the bedside table. It showed 11:42 p.m.

"Ennis." He tugged lightly at Ennis's arm.

"Umm." Ennis inhaled deeply, pressing his nose and mouth into the nape of Jack's neck.

"It's almost midnight… I have to go."

He had never felt bothered – in fact hadn't felt anything at all – when he'd used this line so many times before. Somehow this time it scraped his insides like sandpaper. Jack wiggled slowly around in Ennis's arms, draped his arm over his waist and pressed his forehead against the young man's.

Ennis's eyes were closed, his face a blank mask. But he didn't move away either, which was good considering the circumstances.

"I'm sorry, Ennis. I can't stay… You know that, right?"

Jack dragged the tip of his forefinger along Ennis's lips and they parted, letting out a breath. A sigh. He finally opened his eyes and forced a little smile.

"I understand… I'll drive you home." He took his arm away, sat up quickly and got up, leaving Jack startlingly cold and lonely in his bed.

"Don't worry, Ennis. I'll take the Metro." Jack got up too and started collecting his clothes from the floor. "Do you mind if I take a quick shower in your bathroom?" He stuffed the torn condom wrapper into his slacks' pocket, picked up the used one from the floor.

"Of course not. I'll get you a fresh towel… I'll drive you to your Metro station," he added quietly, clearly not accepting no for an answer.

Ennis had his briefs on already and was heading out of the bedroom when Jack caught him by his arm.

"Ennis, I'm sorry." Jack sighed, feeling like an asshole. "But it would be better if you are not seen taking me home after midnight."

"I understand _that_. But if you think it would be better for _me_, then don't worry. Just tell me what works or doesn't work for _you_." He smiled weakly and dragged a fingertip from Jack's shoulder to the middle of his chest. "You showering now? Let me get you a towel."

They agreed that Jack would leave first and walk along _Profsoyuznaya _Street, which ran in front of Ennis's apartment block toward the city center. Ennis would pick him up in his car in about ten minutes and take him downtown, where Jack would take the Metro back to his place. They clenched in a bear hug in front of the door, Ennis said 'see you in ten minutes' and closed the door quickly as Jack sneaked out onto the landing.

The sound of a war movie was coming from behind of the door next to Ennis's; nothing from the other two. Jack walked stealthily down the stairs, all the way to the ground floor, and closed entrance door quietly behind him. He strode quickly out of the inner ground of the apartment block, into the main street and headed north-east toward the city center along the paved, tree-lined footpath that ran parallel to the main road.

Ennis caught up with him when he had almost reached the nearest Metro station, _Belyaevo_. He stopped the car at the curb, a few meters in ahead of Jack, keeping the engine running. Jack quickly cut across the lawn that separated the pavement from the road, got into the car and Ennis took off the moment the door was closed.

"You're fast," he commented, looking at the road ahead, and offered Jack a newly lit cigarette he was smoking.

Jack shrugged. "Didn't think sauntering around on the street after midnight was a good idea… for a foreigner."

Ennis stole a quick glance his way. "You don't look too out of place dressed like that. Besides, there're lots of foreign students living around this area."

Jack didn't say anything for a while, just took a drag on the cigarette and passed it back to Ennis. He didn't like what he was going to say but he had no choice, if he was to continue his friendship with this young man—the way he was hoping it could be.

The way he needed it to be.

"Ennis, I need you to _fully_ understand what we've got ourselves into. I'm not sure you do," he said, looking straight ahead of him, and only when he finished speaking did he turn to look at Ennis.

"I do understand. But please go ahead if you think we need to go by your rules."

Jack sighed. "They're not _my_ rules, Ennis. They're precautions we should take if we're going to be friends and to… see each other… D'you want that?"

Ennis turned to look at him and nodded, his face solemn. "Yes, I want that. I'll do what you think we should, Jack."

"Great! Because if we aren't careful, you will end up somewhere in Siberia and I will be thrown out of here in a heartbeat."

Well, not exactly: it was the last thing that would happen, once the KGB was done with them both.

Ennis passed the cigarette back to him. "I could also be blackmailed by the KGB into… uh, reporting to them." He threw a quick look at Jack and shrugged. "Not sure about you. You're a diplomat. They might just throw you out of the country."

So the boy knew about the KGB's methods. Why had he thought Ennis didn't? Of course he did, especially if he was already working for them. But then he should also know that American diplomats were the most targeted by the KGB in this country, shouldn't he?

"I'd be blackmailed, too. Before you, actually. I'm an American, remember?" Jack took the last drag on their cigarette, rolled the side window down a fraction and threw it outside.

Ennis's head jerked around at that. He peered at Jack, frowning. "But you're a cultural officer…"

"A diplomat. At the American Embassy," Jack pointed out, eyeing the young man emphatically.

There was an oh-shit kind of silence, then Ennis said, "I'm sorry, Jack. I hadn't thought about _that_."

_Yeah, right._ "Now you know… Sometimes they even attempt to trap us with this kind of ploy. I mean with sex. Because we are not supposed to have… um, _relationships _with locals." Shit, he absolutely hated playing cat and mouse with this man.

There was a long moment of loaded silence, then Ennis asked quietly, "You think I am… such a trap?"

Fuck it! He didn't want to believe it and he wanted Ennis to know it. "I don't want to think you are, Ennis. I just want us to be… friends."

_Friends, huh? You're such a fucking sham, Jack fucking Twist! _

_I do want to be friends with him! The best of friends. And fuck the Agency, fuck Joe, fuck the KGB!_

_So you do, huh? Christ, Jack, you're getting yourself in such a mess, boy._

They were nearing a big crossroad where the street they were driving on split into two parallel roads. Ennis took the right lane and turned into the smaller inner road lined with two neat rows of trees, almost bare of their leaves. He stopped the car at the curb and cut off the engine. Except for a very light traffic on the main road, the street was deserted. Ennis looked straight ahead for a moment, took a deep breath and turned to Jack.

"Jack, I know what I'm going to say will not make any sense to you. You may even think that I'm a juvenile fool. That's alright. If it will help to make you stop thinking that I'm a KGB trap."

"I don't—"

"No, let me say it. Please… So... Um, I had an imaginary friend since I was nine. His name was Jack and he lived in California. On a ranch. I wrote a diary to him for many years… Then two months ago I met you. And you turned out to be… uh, almost exactly like I had always imagined _him_. So, Jack from California, you _are_ my best friend. Whether you want it or not. And if you can't reciprocate, that's fine, too. I understand. After all, you've known me only for two months. For _you_, I'm just a student in your exchange program."

"Ennis, that's not—"

"Please let me finish… Yes, I'm fully aware of the consequences of being a homosexual here. And you've just made me realize what can happen to an American diplomat like you if… if _they_ know… Jack, if you think that being associated with me will cause you trouble, I shall not seek meetings with you anymore. I shall disappear. The only thing I'm asking is for you to believe me: I'm _not_ with the _organs_. I shall never work for them! Even if I may end up in Siberia for who I am… Do you believe me? Jack?" He tilted his head a little, peering into Jack's face, a jumble of emotions visible on his own.

Jack bit on his lip, his stomach in knots, feeling like he would suffocate if he didn't say what was on his mind, right here right now… But he couldn't, not without jeopardizing the whole operation, not without admitting that… _No, you can't do that!_ Shit, he was in such a mess! He was such a mess…

"Yes, Ennis. I believe you." He forced a pained smile and swallowed hard. "And it means the world to me that you think of me as you friend. Thank you, bud."

He twisted in his seat and leaned over. He gripped Ennis by the neck, pulled him closer and rested his forehead against Ennis's for a moment.

The young man surged toward him, cupped the side of Jack's face with one hand, seeking his mouth. "Jack…"

"Oh, Christ, Ennis. You'll be the death of me, I swear," he mumbled, laughing helplessly, touched Ennis's lips softly with his own and pushed the young man back into the driver's seat. "C'mon, now. Take me home, friend."

...

On Monday the snowballing spy and defection scandal reached the Embassy in the form of feature articles carried by all major American newspapers. Not only did they provide sensitive details about Vladimir Gubchenko's background and status, they chronicled, step by step, the saga of Theodor Lee Ward, a CIA-created traitor who had been selling the Agency's assets to the KGB. The articles quoted affidavits by Ward's ex-colleagues, also published on Friday, showing that he had turned up on the FBI's radar screen a year before Gubchenko's defection.

According to the stories, shortly after being fired by the Agency on the eve of his Moscow assignment, Ward had confided to two of his friends, both CIA employees, that he had been contemplating going to the Soviet Embassy in Washington to disclose information. Yet, he had continued working as a government employee in Santa Fe, New Mexico, up until the previous week, when the FBI had finally issued a warrant for his arrest, based on the information obtained during Gubchenko's debriefing. And just then he had disappeared from under the FBI's 24/7 surveillance. Simply vanished.

As if that was not enough, the Washington Post carried a feature article about the CIA assets that Ward had sold to the KGB. In particular, the newspaper recounted the story of Alfred Tolchkunov, an engineer at a closed research facility in Moscow, who had been the Agency's 'most valuable human asset in the Soviet Union for many years'. Quoting affidavits in relation to the Ward case, the article said that Tolchkunov had been providing the CIA with information on Soviet avionics, cruise missiles, and other technologies and that he had been arrested by the KGB in July. And so VANTAGE's fate was revealed to the public in the West.

It was a complete nightmare and Jack was sure that other officers, including senior staff, were as baffled by this unprecedented leakage as he was. The difference was that he couldn't share his uncertainties with anyone there, certainly not with William, so all he could talk about it was in short exchanges with the Moscow Station's chief, once in a while.

The only positive side of the scandal, as far as Jack was concerned, was that it kept the management's attention focused mainly on its daily developments as they evolved, and held back development of new assets and projects. As a result, Jack didn't feel much pressure to move aggressively ahead with Operation Light Water. And he still hadn't heard back from Joe about their next meeting on the 'seawater' part of the op. He suspected that other new and existing Soviet operations had been put on the back burner, too, with priority given to the damage control activities that Jack wasn't part of.

Which was just fine by him. It gave him time to come up with a solid story for his next meeting with his Division's head of clandestine ops, when he would have to report on his progress in building up a friendship with his future agent—Ennis Del Mar Volkonsky, codename TALION.

* * *

_Soundtrack: I Have Nothing, by Jack Vidgen (cover Whitney Houston)_


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: the names of the main characters are not mine.

Rating: M

Warnings: bad language, angst. WIP.

* * *

- 10 -

"Promises, my promises  
They take me all the way to extreme  
My California promises  
They locked me up inside of a dream." _(California Promises, by Gorky Park)_

_..._

_October 7, Monday. 1:37 a.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_Glad you let me take you at least to your metro station. It's night, Jack, nobody saw us. Nobody saw me taking you home._

_Still can't believe I told you about my friend Jack, the Little Cowboy from Calif. Not only that, I sort of hinted that I think of you as him. You must think now that I'm an idiot. A romantic fool who has failed to grow up._

_Doesn't matter. As long as you stop wondering whether I'm with the organs or not. Whether I'm a trap set up by them to get to you. I can't stand you thinking **that** about me._

_No, I'm not offended. I understand now why you might think that. You must think that ANY Soviet person who likes you and wants to be friends with you potentially is an informer. Is that right? It must be awful lonely not to be able to trust anyone. Hope at least you have friends you can trust amongst your own people. I wish I could do something to make it easier for you. So no, I'm not offended at all. Just can't bear you not trusting me. I would do anything for you, Jack! Anything. But of course you don't know that._

_Maybe you don't think I'm a fool: you said it means the world to you that I think of you as a friend. You called me 'friend'. And I didn't see contempt in your eyes. Mind-blowing eyes. (Your word. But it describes precisely how I feel every time I look into those eyes of yours.)_

_And even before that, you chose to protect me. From yourself. Just in case. You didn't want the tiniest chance of me being exposed to anything like 'it'. Acquired immunity deficit syndrome, or whatever you called it. Only someone who cares would do that for you, depriving themselves of the pleasure they could otherwise get. I know, I know, you still liked being with me. I saw it on your face. You derived almost as much pleasure from being with me as I being with you._

_'Almost' because it means much more to me than it does to you. I know it, too. And that's okay. I love you, Jack._

_E._

_..._

_October 9, Wednesday. 11:08 p.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_I've put together a list of articles and research materials on NWT for you as you asked. I should now find a way to give it to you. Hope you'll call me sometime this week._

_I've been thinking: why are you interested in this theory? Tried to step back from its scientific aspects and look at it through your eyes. You're right: it's not the theoretical premise that is important where nuclear weapons are involved; it's the idea of us, both our sides, using nature's intrinsic powers to destroy the nature itself. And ourselves. We, humans, are self-destructive. And we, nuclear physicists, feed this self-destruction with our work._

_Is that what Sakharov's opposition is all about? I'll ask Grandfather about it. (Andrey Dmitrievich was a colleague of Grandfather's when he was still working at the Academy of Science. I think they used to be friends, too.)_

_Yours always, E._

_..._

_October 10, Thursday. Almost midnight._

_Dear Jack,_

_Anton told me today that he had been asked by Deputy Dean Smetannik about our visit to your place last Saturday. He asked what we had done at your place and who else had been there. Anton had been raving about the visit and LiveAid concert tapes since weekend. And about you. He likes you a lot, too. It's just that he talks too much most of the time. Told him to watch his mouth._

_Val mentioned this morning that you got two more passes for them to the Lenin Library. I'm sorry that our department couldn't get more than two for them. Don't know what the problem was. It's almost like we want to limit their access to our research materials. The research that we are so proud of. Ironic, isn't it? In addition, our joint program is now being pushed for new deadlines: they (I mean our side) want to release the results earlier than initially scheduled. Incomplete results. Unbelievable! I'm giving up on this stupidity._

_On something different: I've made copies of your LiveAid tapes for everyone. Now I have to give them back to you somehow. And the reading list on the NWT. It actually contains some materials that can only be read at the Lenin Library. Val also mentioned that you got a pass to the LL along with them. Thus, you will be able to read the materials there, like you wanted. Perhaps we should go there together. I'll show you how to find them. Good idea! I'll call you tomorrow._

_Or not: You said I should only call you about 'social events', like movies, concerts, discotheques. You'd call me about the rest. So I'll have to wait with it till you call me._

_Goodnight, Jack._

_..._

_Long after midnight. Don't even know what time it is. Just can't sleep._

_Does sex qualify as a 'social event'?_

_Sorry, I'm being stupid. It's just I miss you._

_My bed feels so cold and empty I can barely stand to sleep in it._

_Maybe I shouldn't have brought you home._

_Never thought it's possible to miss something or someone this much. It drives me crazy. What will I do when you are gone?_

_I'm a romantic fool, Jack, but I'm not stupid. And I try to be honest – at least to myself: I know you'll leave this country one day and I won't see you ever again._

_E._

_..._

_October 11, Friday. 9:47 p.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_I was called up to DD Smetannik's office this afternoon. He started with some nonsense about some Komsomol activities that I had missed etc. Then he gave a longwinded speech about special interests of the country, that everybody with connections to westerners should help the motherland, that I'm well positioned to do this and it is good for my career prospects etc. etc. Told him if he wanted me to be a stuckach (a rat), he should go talk to Grandfather, see what he has to say to that._

_I don't know what kind arrangement Grandfather has with them. He told me when I first entered the University that I would most probably be called up and they would try to recruit me as a stukach. He also told me that I should tell him about it immediately. And that I should send them to talk to him. This is actually the third time they tried this with me. It worked the previous times. Should work this time, too._

_But this brings to the fore a question I've been trying not to think about for a long time: why is Grandfather able to pull this trick over and over again?_

_And I've found once again that I don't want to think about it. I'm such a bloody coward!_

_I'm not going to mention this incident to you. You don't need to worry about it._

_Your friend, E._

_..._

_October 13, Sunday. 0:35 a.m._

_You didn't call yesterday. Hope you will today. And we can meet somewhere. I just want to talk to you._

_That's not true: I want more than just to talk to you._

_I want you all to myself. In my bed. In my arms._

_Does it make me selfish?_

_No, it just makes me one big, utterly in love fool._

_Never mind._

_Talked to Artyom T. today. He said if I want to participate in the rock festival in Leningrad in March, I have to register by the end of January. Said if I wanted to change some members of my band, he would help and introduce some good musicians. He didn't say so directly, but I know he thinks that for rock-labs we need a more technical drummer than Sevka. A professional._

_I can't do this to Sevka — he's been dreaming of playing at a rock festival for years. I have to come up with something so that he can play with us._

_And I'll have to tell the KVN team I can't be their captain anymore. Must focus on practicing for the festival. I need to write at least three good pieces by January. Otherwise it's not worth of entering._

_This is it. This is what I always wanted, isn't it? I know you are with me on this, cowboy. You told me I should play more because I'm good at it. So I will._

_..._

_Just after midnight._

_Just finished reading the articles about AIDS in the magazine you gave me. I don't know what to say. Never heard about anything this horrifying before._

_Now I'm truly worried. You can't have it, Jack. You can't! You said you've been careful for a long time now. Meaning you used protection?_

_It means that you had other partners, friends, lovers... One? Two? Many? Did you meet them at gay bars that they write about in the articles? Sounds like there're a lot of them in San Francisco. Sounds like a lot of gay people living there._

_I never asked if you have had "someone" in Calif. Someone like you must have tons of followers, both men and women. Gregarious, friendly and knowledgeable—that's you. Admired by everybody. So beautiful that sometimes it hurts to look at you. How can you not have crowds of followers? You have them here, too, don't you?_

_Maybe you hang out with me because you don't feel you can trust anyone else here. Why else does someone of your standing choose to be with a twenty-one-year old like me? Who knew nothing about being with a man before you and may not even have another after you. It doesn't make much sense._

_But then doesn't it mean that you trust me? You've chosen me to be your friend. Your special friend._

_I'm sorry, I'm confused. I'm jealous. And scared._

_I love you._

_Jack, I'll hold you in my arms even if you have this gruesome illness. I'll never let go._

_I don't believe you have it. No, it can't be!_

_Your friend for always. E._

_..._

_October 14, Monday. 11:25 p.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_I hope you really didn't mind me calling you at home. I need to talk to you. Can't stop thinking about AIDS. About you. I couldn't say that on the phone._

_Hope we can talk about it at the Lenin Library. See you on Wednesday._

_E._

_..._

_October 16, Wednesday. 10:08 p.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_Feeling better after talking to you. I'm confident you probably don't have **'it'**. But I agree: you need to take the test to be 100% sure._

_So you'll go to Helsinki this weekend or next where you can do the tests. You said at a blood donation center where they do anonymous tests for donors. You'll need to find one first and it may take a couple of trips._

_Which means I may not see you for a couple of week. Or more._

_God, I miss you. Can't wait till you come to my place again._

_Talking about my place and also my car: last time we met you asked how come I have them. You're right; it's very unusual here for a young person like me to have a place of my own and a car of my own. Most people don't. I hope you believe me and don't think anymore that I have all this because I'm working for the organs._

_It's true, Jack. It's a sad thing, but I got all my major possessions through my family's misfortune._

_The apartment used to belong to my father—it was given to him by the Gov. when he came to live in the SU. Mother and I lived there too, till we moved to my Grandparents' place on Chistye Prudy. Father stayed and lived there until he died in 1976. It should have been sold, but Mother never got down to it. I think she feared even going there. So it remained unoccupied for many years. Grandma used to rent it out occasionally before she passed away. She had a heart attack a month after my uncle Seriozha died in Afghanistan in 1980._

_Then when I was eighteen, I told my family I wanted to live there. on my own. It was when I realized I was ho gay. Mother and Grandfather were against it of course, but gave in in the end. Alright, it was not that simple, but you got the gist._

_Same thing with the car. I inherited the car from uncle Seriozha. He taught me how to repair this car and how to drive it the year Father died. He taught me to ride horses, too. Until he was transferred to Turkmenistan in 1980 and was killed in action within three months. He was one of the first few officially killed on the Afghan soil. The first senior officer (he was a colonel). Awarded an order of the Hero of the Soviet Union. Posthumously._

_I'll stop here or I'll need a serious drink if I continue down this path._

_E._

_..._

_October 17, Thursday. 11:25 p.m._

_There's this thing that has been bothering me for the last 2 days: you seem too keen on learning all about the NWT. Seems right, for someone who's supervising a project on this topic. And the fact that you've asked **me** to help also seems fair: you want us to be friends, right? Special friends. So this part is fine, too. But what is this about 'original NW project'? You've mentioned it twice already. You say you want to read it. You seem to imply that Grandfather is the author of this 'original research' work. I'm not sure what work you have in mind and why it is so important for you. That's the impression I got._

_Maybe I should ask you next time we meet. Next Wednesday at the LL again._

_Maybe you'll have done your blood test by then and would like to come to my place again._

_God, I'm pathetic! All I think about most of the time nowadays is sex. About "mind-blowing" sex— your words._

_Does it always feel like **that** for you?_

_I slept with 3 girls; one of them was very "experienced". But it was nothing like this. Not even close. So my question is: is it mind-blowing because it's with a man or because it's with you?_

_I have no proof, but suspect it's because of you._

_E._

_..._

_October 20, Sunday. 11:45 p.m._

_Talked to my guys today about participating in the rock-lab festival in Leningrad. They are all for it, nobody bailed out. I'm so glad. I'm sure we'll make it. We've also come up with a solution in relation to Sevka: he and I will take special classes at the conservatory from now till February—he for drums, I for guitar and instrumental composition. I need it._

_That will take all our free time and the time that is not free, too. Grandfather will be unhappy, no doubt. But that's life: he kept telling me for years that I was not focused on I wanted to do. Now I am. It's a shame he and I want different things for me._

_I'm planning to ask Karelin if he can give us advice on the staging of my rock composition. I know he will be happy to help. Just hope he isn't too much in my face._

_I wonder if he knows about me. He isn't known to be very discriminating about who he likes._

_Or maybe he knows exactly who he likes, and it's those he likes who are hiding it ('closeted' is the word they use). Like me. Like you._

_But he didn't seem to show any special interest in you. A good thing too. Because I'd have knocked him out flat in 2 seconds if he did. Maybe he can't tell about you. I would have never thought that you could be ho like me. Not in thousand years!_

_I look at people differently now. Less judgmental perhaps. Thanks to you, my friend._

_E._

_..._

_October 23, Wednesday. 11:59 p.m. Not midnight yet!_

_Dear Jack,_

_I'm so glad! So relieved that I want to howl. To claw the silver out of the moon and the stars! I knew you didn't have it. Don't know how, but I just knew in my heart that you didn't. Couldn't have it. Not you, my cowboy._

_And I apologize again for behaving like a ten-year-old when you told me about the test results. I was just so overcome with relief. I'm sure the women at the cafeteria won't forget that and will tease me to death when I come to the library next time. I don't care._

_About this 'original' NW study: so you heard about it from Prof. Ackerman and now are interested to know about its origin. Then you gave a long-winded and intricate monologue, like you do sometimes. You almost lost me there, my friend. Mainly because I was too busy looking at you. But I got the message: that if you hadn't been assigned to the NW project, you wouldn't have met me. That's why this project is important to you._

_I'd like to stretch it into thinking that what you really meant was that meeting with me is important to you. I want to be important to you, Jack, just a little. I wish I could give you a fraction of what you've given me already. So if the NWT is important to you, so be it._

_It's a shame Prof. Ackerman departed home last Sunday, ahead of the original plan. Otherwise I could have asked him. Don't know if anyone else in his team knows anything about this 'original' study. They'll be here for another few weeks. I can ask them._

_C'mon, stupid! Wouldn't asking Grandfather directly be the best? Don't know what's wrong with me today—I have been behaving, reasoning like a child since I saw you at the LL this morning._

_Ha, you have this strange effect on me, cowboy: you reduce me to a breathless, mumbling, trembling, sex-starved mess. And the strangest thing of all is that I know I won't be ashamed if you learn what you do to me._

_Somehow, I feel that you don't want to know. And that's okay, my friend. My vasil'yok._

_E._

_..._

_October 27, Sunday. 10:52 p.m._

_Lara called this morning to ask if we want to use Karelin's studio at her institute for practicing. No doubt Karelin's idea. Doesn't matter. We'll take him up on the offer. Don't want people at the MGU to know we're practicing for a rock festival._

_Lara also said that she was going to the movies with you in the afternoon. And that you two might go to dinner later on. She said Anya and I should join you next weekend when her parents would be out of town and we could all go to her place afterwards. Told her I'd think about it._

_I'm trying to look at it objectively:_

_We've met 12 times in around four months. Talked around twice as many times on the phone._

_You have your life in which you're a straight ladies' man. I have mine, totally different from yours, in which I'm straight, too._

_We had sex 4 times. Which, according to you, was mind-blowing. I have no words to even start describing it._

_You said it means the world to you that I consider you my friend._

_You implied that meeting me is important to you._

_You never said or implied that you are not going to go out with others, men or women, strangers or my friends._

_Hence, there is absolutely no reason for me to want to kill someone. Or get completely drunk. For a week. Or two. So that I can finally stop wondering what works better for you on a Sunday afternoon – to be out with her or with me._

_I'm sorry, Jack. You have given me absolutely no ground to think about it in these terms. It's just me. I just do. Because I lo miss you._

_E._

_..._

_October 31, Thursday. 10:17 p.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_I've read a very disturbing article in Literaturnaya Gazeta today. It's called 'Panic in The West or What is Hiding Behind the Sensation Surrounding AIDS', written by someone who sounds like he knows what he's talking about. He quotes published sources, predominantly American, including 'publicly available' statistical evidence etc. Essentially, it says that AIDS was developed by the US military as a biological weapon and accidentally spread out as the result of the experiments on unsuspecting civilians. It lists other similar US covert biological warfare programs. The ones conducted in third-nations countries; the experiments currently conducted at Fort Detrick, Maryland, the place where AIDS has allegedly been created. According to this article, the US military has been testing it on people in Haiti and on drug addicts, homosexuals and homeless people in Calif. All unbeknownst to them._

_This is very daunting. I don't want to believe it._

_But what unsettles me even more is that had I not learned about AIDS from you before I read this article, I might have bought the story on the spot. Now I look at it with different eyes._

_I've re-read the article 3 times. The evidences it quotes are mostly, if not all, circumstantial. The statistical data is quoted from a popular source, not from a scientific publication. I don't know, maybe I'm grasping at the straws here. I just don't want to believe it. And I know most people here will believe it._

_I need to talk to you about it._

_11:27 p.m._

_Sorry, Jack, I just had to call. I'm glad I did because now I'll see you on Sunday._

_And I'm sorry I lied: I don't have tickets to the conservatory. Mother mentioned it the other day – she was invited to a Shostakovich evening at the conservatory. It was the first 'regular' thing that came to my mind. But I'll get the tickets, if you want to go this recital._

_Or we can go to Artyom's place. He's hosting a rock band from Sverdlovsk, called Nautilus. They're really good. They'll be giving a small concert. Of course it's all unofficial. That's the reality of the Soviet rock scene. Hope you don't mind. I'm sure they will be thrilled to have you as a guest. Our rockers love Americans. Esp. the ones related to anything cultural._

_I'll ask you when you call._

_E._

_..._

_November 2, Saturday. 0:05 a.m._

_Jack,_

_I had dinner at Grandfather's this evening. After dinner I asked him about his 'original' NW study. He looked at me with surprise and asked where I had heard it from. I said from Prof. Ackerman. I didn't mention that it was you who had heard it from Prof. Ackerman, not me. Don't even know why. Grandfather was surprised again, said that it had never been printed in any widely available publication. He thought for a bit and said that maybe Alexin had told him about it. (Dr. Alexin spent a few months in America last year, working with Prof. Ackerman's team on the model, using the super-computer at Berkeley.) Then, Grandfather was thoughtful for a bit longer and finally said that if it's not absolutely necessary for my research, maybe I don't need to read it. At that point, someone called him on the phone and we left it at that._

_Jack, Grandfather has never before told me that I didn't need something if that something was related to scientific research. Ever! Why doesn't he want me to read one of his studies now? What is there in that study that isn't already known and controversial?_

_I'm perplexed._

_E._

_0:42 p.m._

_Why do **you** want to read it, Jack?_

* * *

**A/N:**

**Andrei Dmitrievich Sakharov** was a Soviet nuclear physicist, dissident and human rights activist. He gained renown as the designer of the Soviet Union's Third Idea, a codename for Soviet development of thermonuclear weapons. Sakharov was an advocate of civil liberties and civil reforms in the Soviet Union. He was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1975. (From Wikipedia.)

**Komsomol **is a youth division of the Communist Party of the USSR.

**Vasil'yok - **cornflower

**Literaturnaya Gazeta is **(Literary Newspaper) is a weekly cultural and political newspaper published in the Soviet Union and now in Russia.

**Fort Detrick **is a U.S. Army Medical Command installation located in Frederick, Maryland, USA. Historically, Fort Detrick was the center for the United States' biological weapons program (1943–69).

* * *

_Soundtrack: California Promises, by Gorky Park_


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: the names of the main characters are not mine.

Rating: M

Warnings: bad language, angst. WIP.

...

A/N:

Just to remind you a bit about Gubchenko's defection case:

The first time Jack hears about a walk-in case in Rome of a high ranking KGB officer was from the Moscow Station's Chief (Chapter I-24). In relation to the debriefings of the defector, he also asks if Jack knew a case officer named Theodore Lee Ward who had been fired by the CIA a few days before his posting to Moscow.

The second time Jack hears about Gubchenko defection is from his co-worker, Glen, and hurries to read about it in newspapers (Chapter II-4). Later the same day, Marat and William instruct Jack to step up his effort in building relationship with Prof. Volkonsky—in addition to his grandson: Jack is to find out all about the original NWT, supposedly developed by Prof. Volkonsky at the behest of the KGB. Nurimbekoff mentions that the information is coming from Gubchenko who also indicated that the NWT was a KGB 'active measure' against the American Gov.'s nuclear arms strategy.

Other fouled up spy cases that we've heard about so far:

-The ambush and arrest of Peter Strauss, a case officer in the Moscow Station, by the KGB during a bren (brief encounter) with his agent, VANTAGE (Chapter I-13) whose identity –Alfred Tolchkunov— and fate has been leaked to the press after Gubchenko debriefings;

-The roll-up/tampering with listening devices, code name TAWER, that the CIA had planted on KGB's communication lines (Jack's first assignment in Moscow, chapter I-12);

-The roll up of a British secret service's agent, who was then successfully exfiltrated after Jack had accidentally picked up his distress sign on a Moscow avenue (the man with Woolworth shopping bag, chapter I-13);

-During their drive from Munich to the military base, Joe mentioned to Jack that the MI6 agent case was the 5th roll up of assets in the last few months (chapter I-17);

-The exchange of expulsions of 'diplomats' from each other's countries by Soviets and Brits, preceded by unexpected departure of Amanda Plante whom Jack and the Moscow Station suspect to be an MI6's officer placed as an 'illegal' (not a diplomatic staff);

-Glen mentions a case of KGB agents roll up in America – John Walker family and friends (chapter II-4);

-The case of Theodore Lee Ward who according to Gubchenko had been selling info to the KGB and disappeared from under the FBI's surveillance (chapter II-7).

I might have missed a couple more :D

* * *

- 11 -

Jack was dazed.

There seemed to be no discernable end to the unfolding of the Gubchenko's defection story. Since it first hit the news in late September, major American papers had been carrying stories and opinions about the new developments on a regular basis, and including some of the information obtained during his 'top-secret debriefing' by the CIA and the FBI. Within days of the news of Vladimir Gubchenko's defection, _The Washington Times_ published the first piece of information from his debriefing, revealing to the world that Theodor Lee Ward, an ex-CIA officer, had been selling the CIA's secrets to the KGB.

The Ward news immediately became a front page story in its own right, complete with coverage of the FBI's futile search for the man. In early October, the State Department finally confirmed to the press that Gubchenko had defected to the US from Rome. In the third week of October, the Wall Street Journal carried an editorial on Gubchenko. He had revealed 'a wealth of Soviet spy information', the paper declared, including some that the CIA allegedly made public. One of the cases involved Alfred Tolchkunov, a research expert in new aircraft technology, including advanced avionics, radar and 'stealth' technologies, and one of the CIA's most valuable human assets in the Soviet Union. His exposure by Ward stood as an 'indictment of gross mismanagement and ineptitude reaching to the highest levels' of the Agency.

During the last week of October, NBC Nightly News and the Washington Post featured another story, based on information obtained during Gubchenko's debriefings, about the fate of another CIA's agent, Alexander Sandrin. He had defected to the US in late 60s and had worked as a double agent for the CIA for years. In the end the Agency had failed to protect him: in 1975, during a meeting in Vienna, the KGB tried to abduct Sandrin, but he had died during the process.

It seemed that all Jack had been taught about handling agents, about ensuring that their identities and their lives were protected by all means necessary, was turning out to be rather theoretical. If any Soviet entertaining an idea of changing sides read one of these stories, they would most probably kill it pretty fast. He wouldn't blame them. And then how useful was the information provided by Gubchenko, if it kept ending up in the news before anything could be done about it? Jesus!

Since the story unfolded, Jack had exchanged a few words about it with Nurimbekoff only twice, and both times the Station head had assured him that everything was being done to identify and manage the leak. Everything was under control. The hell it was! Both he and William had been gone to the headquarters for almost 2 weeks and Jack had nobody to share his reservations with, or to provide some insight on what was really going on.

One welcome disruption to his stalling routine was Secretary of State Schultz's visit to Moscow as part of the pre-summit preparations scheduled for November 4th and 5th. Once again, Jack's Russian language skills were called into use: he was asked by Ambassador Hart to help the organizing committee. And Mrs. Hart, if he didn't mind. Of course Jack didn't mind; he was happy to help out. But as a result, he had also been asked to work on Sunday, the eve of Schultz's arrival.

That was a disappointment, since he had agreed to meet with Ennis on Sunday and go someplace with him—a Shostakovich night at the conservatory or anything else the young man could come up with for them to do. He preferred 'anything else' though, and suspected that Ennis might want to as well. But now it looked like their plans would have to be put on hold. Maybe it was better this way, to wait for his bosses to authorize his meeting with his potential target as per the standard procedure. Yeah, it was better than reporting about it after the fact, seeing that such a meeting wasn't exactly one of those extraordinary situations where post-fact reporting was excusable.

Jack called Ennis on Saturday morning from the Metro on his way to the Embassy.

He had been tailed every day for the last eight or nine days—ever since he'd been asked to help the State Department folks with preparations for Shultz's visit. So Jack had decided to make an early start and try to make the call before his minders caught up with him somewhere on the way to the Embassy. He figured they wouldn't expect him to leave the apartment before 8:00 a.m. on a Saturday and would scramble a little when the _militzia_ guard alerted them that Jack had left on foot.

He was right: he was clear of surveillance all the way to the Metro station _Proletarskaya_, the further one of the two within walking distance from his compound.

Ennis picked up the phone on the third ring.

"Alyo?"

Jack could hear a hint of a smile in his voice and bit on his lip. No matter how much he was disappointed that they couldn't meet the next day, he hated disappointing Ennis even more.

"Hey, Ennis. It's me."

"_Privet_, Jack… Listen, I lied to you when I said last time that I had tickets to the conservatory. I don't have them. Yet. But I can get them if you're interested… Or we can go to see a rock performance if you like… I need to talk to you… Jack?"

Jack let him do his surprise speech, smiling to himself faintly, reveling in the sound of the low, soothing voice, until Ennis called his name, sounding worried at the lack of response.

"Yes, I'm here. It's fine, Ennis, don't worry about it. I want to catch up, too. But it looks like I can't make it. I've been asked to come in for work today and tomorrow."

"On a weekend?"

"Yes. We're preparing for our Secretary of State's visit.… I'm sorry."

Ennis didn't respond right away and when he did, Jack could tell that he was trying not to sound upset.

"Alright. Maybe next Sunday then? Or…"

"Yes?"

"Uh, my Grandfather has invited the Berkeley team to his place next week. For lunch, on Saturday. They're leaving the following week. So it's a kind of a farewell. Will you come? Uh, if he invites you?"

"Yes, I'd be delighted to join—if Mikhail Sergeyevich invites me." He was sure Nurimbekoff would be happy with his progress too and would clear the visit without questions.

"Great. I'll tell him… But I still need to talk to you…uh, privately… About the _original _nuclear winter study," Ennis explained, sounding cautious.

Jack pricked up his ears and tried not to sound too eager. "Yes? You're found out about it?"

"No, not yet. But I want to ask you… What did Professor Ackerman say about it? Why do you want to read it?"

Jack froze. This didn't sound good. Maybe he had pushed a bit too hard and made Ennis suspicious. He had to come up with a plausible explanation, like right now. But the guy was smart as a whip and Jack didn't think he could feed him more stories about Prof. Ackerman without Ennis figuring out that Jack was bullshitting. He was out of his depth facing these scientists and now regretted that he had agreed to William's suggestion to point to Prof. Ackerman as the source of his information about this goddamn 'original study'.

"Why? Has anything happened?" he asked slowly, trying to buy some time.

"I've asked my Grandfather about it."

"And? What did he say?"

"He said I didn't need to read it, if it's not important for my research."

"Oh…"

So the information that this theory was a KGB's 'active measure' against the US government's policy was probably correct. In which case the Americans would want the document itself anyway.

"Jack, what did Professor Ackerman say and why do you want to read it? That's what I want to talk to you about. When we meet… uh, separately… I didn't tell Grandfather that it was _you_ who was interested in his study," he added and sighed.

_Oh, fuck William and his recommendations! _

"Ennis, I'm so sorry. I haven't been very straightforward with you about it. It's rather complicated… As a matter of fact, I didn't hear it from Professor Ackerman directly… I've heard it from my boss. William, remember him?"

"Yes, I remember him." Jack could visualize him frowning a bit in concentration.

"So, William heard about it from Professor Ackerman. But apparently not only from him…" _Oh, screw it!_ "Ennis, this is also related to Dr. Alexin."

"Dr. Alexin?"

"Yes. So you're right: we need to meet."

"You don't want to talk about it on the phone," Ennis stated rather than asked.

"No, I don't. Let's meet next Sunday. Alright?"

Jack heard a faint sigh on the other end before the young man answered, "Alright. But you're still coming to Grandfather's place on Saturday, aren't you?"

Ennis's tone was hopeful and it set off a cloud of butterflies in Jack's stomach.

"I wouldn't miss it for anything!" he exclaimed, grinning happily.

"Alright then. I'll see you at Grandfather's… Do you want to write down the address now?"

"I can remember it if you read it to me. But I think it will be better if you or someone would call my office on Monday. With an official invite. Know what I mean?"

There was a slight hesitation before Ennis said firmly, "I understand. Lena will call you on Monday… I'll think of where we can meet next Sunday. It's my turn."

"Great! Thanks, Ennis. I look forward to it… Listen, I have to run now. I'll see you later?"

"Yes. _Poka_, Jack." And he hung up.

Jack hung up too, turned around slowly and unobtrusively scanned his surroundings for surveillance before heading down the escalator to the trains. He was still in the clear.

So now he had a week to come up with a real good story about how he learned about the original nuclear winter study and why he was dying to read it. He hoped that Nurimbekoff would be back next week, or at least William, so that he could get his ideas about how to go about getting this study cleared by his bosses.

Both his bosses returned on Monday. But then on Tuesday the briefing Jack had requested was cancelled due to a new development in the Gubchenko defection saga.

On late Monday afternoon in Washington—around midnight in Moscow—Vladimir Gubchenko, the highest ranking defector in the history of the CIA, gave a press conference from the newly built Soviet Embassy in Washington DC, announcing to the world that he had returned to the Soviet side. He claimed that he had been 'forcibly abducted' from Rome by the CIA and brought to the US where he had been 'kept in isolation, forced to take drugs and denied the possibility to get in touch with Soviet representatives'. Furthermore, Gubchenko stated that he had not divulged any secret information when he was not drugged and in control and that he had first heard of Theodor Lee Ward when his handlers had brought him newspapers with stories about him. Then 3 months into his abduction, thanks to a momentary lapse in security, he had been able to break out to freedom and come to the Soviet Embassy.

It was the most bizarre tale Jack had ever heard and he was pretty sure that most of the Agency's staff shared his incredulity. He didn't quite buy Gubchenko's abduction story and a ten-minute briefing with William on Wednesday night confirmed his suspicion.

But then the whole affair meant either that the Agency had handled the man so appallingly that he had decided to re-defect or that he had been a dangle. Either way, all information obtained from him during the debriefings would require additional layer of verifications wherever and whenever possible. And that included the lead on the origins of the nuclear winter theory that Gubchenko claimed to be a KGB 'active measure' against the United State's nuclear arms strategy.

That was pretty much what Nurimbekoff told Jack on Thursday evening in the Tank. Besides, if the information on Prof. Volkonsky's original study was corroborated, it would act as an extra layer of assurance that other information provided by Gubchenko might also be true, even if it pointed up the reason why he had re-defected—that the Agency had screwed up the handling of the most important KGB spy that ever defected to the US.

When Nurimbekoff had done his bit, Jack outlined what he wanted to tell Ennis about his knowledge of the original nuclear winter study: William first overhears drunken Alexin ranting about it to Ackerman during the welcome cocktail party at the Conference on Nuclear Winter in Madrid in May. Alexin insists that it's all KGB's handiwork and Prof. Volkonsky was requested to put together a team to produce a study on the effects of a total nuclear exchange over Germany. Later on, when William asks Ackerman if it is true, the scientist shrugs it off, saying that Alexin has always been paranoid about the KGB. This story then ties in nicely to Alexin's disappearance in Madrid after the conference, putting the blame squarely at the KGB's door. Next, William mentions this incident to Jack as a joke at one of the weekend BBQ events at the Embassy's _dachas_. Jack is intrigued by the story, decides to do a little research of his own and asks Ennis to help direct him in his research.

And the reason he hadn't mentioned all this to Ennis earlier was because the existence of such a study implied Ennis's grandfather's association with the KGB. Jack had thought the young man wouldn't have liked that.

"So that's what I propose we tell him," Jack concluded and took a deep breath, watching Nurimbekoff's face closely for reaction.

But it was William who spoke up first. "Are you proposing that we let them know that we know about the original study? Why would we do that, Jack?" he asked, obviously overplaying his disbelief.

"Well, I think they'll only know that _we_ know if, one, _they_ _know_ that I'm a case officer, and, two, Ennis Volkonsky is working for them. At the moment, we have no indication that either one is a fact. Besides, I'm more inclined to think that the boy is _not _with the KGB. "

"That's _not_ a foregone conclusion. _And_ I still don't see a rationale for giving away information about what we know."

"I may not see the whole picture, but from what I know, it doesn't seem to do any harm if they know about it. Am I right?"

Jack was very tempted to add that given what had already been leaked to the press, one more bit of information couldn't really do any major harm. But he bit his tongue.

The Station chief finally stepped in. "He may be right, William. Giving _this_ piece of information away may in return get us more of what we need… Good thinking", he said nodding at Jack.

"Thank you, sir."

But William was not through questioning Jack's proposal, though he toned down his skepticism. "Please explain — why me? And why bring Alexin into the story? What's your purpose?"

"I thought it would be best if the source was twice or even three times removed from me. Gives me an opportunity to speculate openly about the information without stress about needing to be accurate about it. On the other hand, it has to be a source that Ennis Volkonsky thinks of as reliable. Alexin is a perfect source in this instance: one, nobody can verify now what he said or didn't. And two, Ennis seems to side with him on the model they've been running. But I can't really claim that I knew the man and that he told me about this study. So I thought you, William, would be the best conduit for this bit of info. You know Ackerman; you're senior enough with USIA to attend an international conference; you could have met with all of them there… Also, I think it'll be a great test to determine whether the boy is with the KGB and whether the study is the KGB's plot. It would create quite a stir if they found out that we know about it. Don't you think?"

Jack looked at the two men across the desk, waiting for their reaction. When he saw that no response was forthcoming, he continued, looking at William apologetically. "Besides, I've already mentioned to the boy that I'd heard it from you, William. I'm sorry. He put me on the spot with his direct question. I had to tell him something."

"Alright, Jack. I think it makes sense," Nurimbekoff nodded and looked at William expectantly until the other man nodded his silent agreement too. "But we'll need to run your story by the HQ, before you start spinning it with the Del Mar kid. I don't expect there'll be any major change to it. Maybe some fine-tuning here and there. You should be all set by the time you talk to him on Sunday. Try to avoid talking about it at the lunch on Saturday, though. Unless you get a green light from William _before_ your visit to Professor Volkonsky's place."

"Yes, sir. I understand."

"Alright, we're all set then… And I'll find time to chat to you about this Gubchenko affair soon," the Station chief added quickly as he noticed that Jack was about to ask a question. "Are we good?"

Jack nodded, mumbling 'yes sir' and the meeting was quickly adjourned.

That night he couldn't fall asleep for a long time. He got up at half past one, went to the sitting room to get himself a drink, took it back to the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry, Ennis, but it's my fucking job," he whispered, staring down at the tumbler with a triple shot of Jim Beam, and sighed heavily.

Joe had said that the kid had been ruined for a normal life the moment he was born. He was probably right. And it also meant that if Jack didn't do the job, Joe Cohen would assign someone else to do it. So it was better Jack than somebody else. That way he could at least try his best to make sure that the boy wasn't harmed… for nothing… Yeah, it was definitely better… No, fuck it! It _couldn't_ be anyone else but him. Because he was Jack and he was from California, even if it was an impossibly foolish idea. Right?


	12. Chapter 12

- 12 -

It had been raining for over a week. Except for a short spell of no-rain on Thursday when the entire country watched, either in person or via live broadcast on TV, the military parade on Red Square on the occasion of 68th anniversary of the Great October Revolution. The rumor was that the authorities ordered dry weather for the parade, so the clouds had been sprayed with some chemicals that temporarily prevented them from releasing moisture. The measure hadn't brought out the sunshine, but at least all of Thursday morning had stayed rainless, if not completely dry. It had been raining with vengeance ever since—a steady, relentless and patience-draining precipitation.

It eased to a light drizzle as Jack parked on a narrow side street not far from _Chistoprudny Boulevard_. He took his umbrella from the front seat, together with the bouquet of powder-pink roses that had cost him a small fortune, locked the car and scurried toward the seven-story off-white building at the far end of the lake. Jack usually took Metro when he was meeting with his locals to attract less attention to his contacts, if it was at all possible. But today he decided to drive his Mustang to Prof. Volkonsky's place. He had been invited officially through his office and whoever needed to know already knew about his visit, so what the heck.

The turn of the century art nouveau style building featured an atypically large and airy foyer. It also looked significantly better maintained that the Brezhnev era nondescript apartment block where Jack lived. It was obvious that the residents were considered important. Elite. Jack took the old, but brightly lit and clean elevator to the sixth floor. There were only two doors on the spacious landing with an old and chipped, but still beautiful tile floor. He pressed the antique looking bell on the door on the left.

The heavy wooden door opened within a few seconds, as if the woman in her early forties who opened it had been standing just a few paces from it, waiting for the doorbell to ring. She was petite and attractive, with dyed, sandy blond hair and big, dark eyes. Now Jack knew for certain where Ennis got his soulful brown eyes – except that her eyebrows and lashes were much darker. And her eyes were sad, as though she had seen all the sorrow of the world.

"Good day. I'm afraid I'm a little early than invited. Hope you don't mind." Jack flashed his teeth and dimples at the woman and offered her the roses. "And this is for you. You must be Vera Mikhailovna, Professor Volkonsky's daughter."

"Good day. For me?" She was only slightly surprised. "Thank you very much. Please come in."

The woman stepped aside to let Jack in. She was wearing an elegant dark purple knitted dress and street shoes, looking like she was about to go out.

Jack stepped inside and took a swift check of his surroundings. The cabinet for overcoats and street shoes was on the left of the door; on the right was an old-fashioned hall table and a bookcase overflowing with books, most of them old and obviously well-read. To the right of the roomy hallway were three doors; the center one was half-glass, apparently leading to the main guest room.

He smiled to the woman and offered her his hand, palm-up. "My name is Jack Twist. I'm coordinating the joint Soviet – American project for Mikhail Sergeyevich."

The woman hesitated for a split second and put her hand in Jack's.

"Pleased to meet you, Jack," she said softly, a shade of a smile haunting the corners of her lips and eyes.

Jack bent his head, brought her hand up and kissed it gallantly, the old-fashioned chivalrous way that he knew Russian women would die for. When he straightened up and met her eyes again, her expression was more of a surprise than pleasure and Jack thought she must be used to this kind of courteous treatment, but hadn't expected it from an American. Then her lips curled further up and her eyes narrowed in a soft little smile that bore a hint of resemblance to that of her son's.

"I've heard a lot about you," Jack said, smiling eagerly and eying Vera Volkonskaya with great interest.

"You have?" For a moment she looked surprised again, maybe even more so than before. But she quickly recovered and resumed her role of a dutiful hostess. "You can hang up your jacket here and put your shoes underneath. Feel free to use any of those slippers."

He took off his cowboy boots, picked the largest pair of open toe slippers, put them on and straightened up.

"Yes. From Lara. She holds you in the highest regard. She says you're a renowned translator of English language literature and know all about American and English cultures."

"Oh. That girl, sometimes she can be very expansive." Vera Volkonskaya shook her head lightly. "I've heard a lot from her about you, too. Let me recall… 'A very attentive, polite and handsome American, who speaks excellent Russian and knows all about Russian culture and history,' she quoted and offered him half a smile, caution lingering in her eyes. "It has to be you… Please come this way." She motioned her hand towards the glass door.

"Thank you, Vera Mikhailovna. And I agree with you: Lara is too generous with her praise… In my case."

As Jack was took two steps toward the door in the center, the one on the left swung open and Ennis emerged in the doorway. He took a few hesitant steps toward Jack.

"Good day, Jack… I, um, heard you voice…" He sounded out of breath. And was looking a bit awkward.

"Ennis! Good day. How are things?"

Jack thrust his hand out and shook hands with the young man, willing himself to pull his hand back right away.

"Not bad, thanks. I see you've… already met with my mama," Ennis said with a curious look on his face, as if he was skeptical about what he had just said.

"Yes, I've already met with Vera Mikhailovna. And hope I'll have a chance to talk more to her today," Jack said enthusiastically and turned to her, all smiles.

Vera stood motionless, staring at the two of them, and Jack watched her expression change slowly from surprise to uncertainty to something like… fear maybe?… Nah, he was just imagining it. She couldn't possibly know… about Ennis… Could she?

"I have to apologize. I have an important meeting today that I couldn't reschedule. I was actually on my way out," she said, suddenly in a hurry, and walked past Jack into the main room. Then as if she had remembered her manners, Vera turned around and said apologetically, "I'm sure my son here and my father will do a great job in hosting you today. Hope you forgive me." She offered them both a weak smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, turned around and disappear in the guest room.

Jack looked at Ennis quizzically, feeling a little lost. "Did I offend her inadvertently in any way? I'm sorry if I did."

Ennis sighed and shook his head. "No. Don't worry about it. She's like that with, um, Americans. Avoids meeting with them, uh, with you. Don't mind her, please." He smiled sadly and motioned toward the glass door. "Please come in."

But Jack was not yet ready to come in.

"Does she know…" he asked in a low voice and mouthed 'about you', pointing his finger at the young man's chest.

"No! No one…" Ennis shook his head vigorously. "Except you," he mouthed, then said quietly, "It's alright, Jack. Don't worry about her."

Jack opened his mouth to say that he hoped he'd have another chance to try to change her mind about him when the doorbell rang again and Ennis went to answer it.

It was Ilya and Liova, the two other members of the Soviet Nuclear Winter exchange team besides Prof. Volkonsky, Dr. Arceniev, Ennis, Anton and Grisha. The professor, in a tie and vest and soft house shoes, appeared from the room on the left to greet Jack and his students. After a round of handshakes, he ushered them into the guest room, instructed them to make themselves at home and retreated through the last door on the left.

There were three more doors around the perimeter of the guest room, all of them closed. Through the one on the right, closest to the entrance, a kitchen was visible through its glass panes and faint sounds of chopping were coming through. The guest room was large but cozy, furnished with antique-looking cabinets with china, couches with embroidered cushions, a big standing clock. The walls were hung with a couple of dozen paintings in heavy frames. The dominant colors were brown, gold and cream. Everything looked old-fashioned and tidy, if slightly shabby. A large dinner table was set up in the middle of the room with thirteen curved legged chairs around it. Fine blue and cream tableware, silver cutlery and crystal glasses were laid out on a pristine white, starched tablecloth.

They had only been seated for a minute when Ennis's mother hurried out of one of the doors, apologized again for not staying for lunch and bid her goodbyes. She was polite, but distant, not smiling. Well, at least not to Jack.

Soon after she had left, Anya and Anton arrived. After an exchange of greetings, Anya conveyed her father's apologies for not being able to join the team that day, but said he would drop by for a minute after lunch. She then excused herself and headed toward the kitchen door, opened it without knocking and closed it firmly behind her. When Ennis caught Jack's curious glance, he explained that Dmitri Alexandrovich, Anya's father, had warned beforehand that he wouldn't be able to join the lunch.

Okay, so Dr. Arceniev was Anya's father. No wonder she studied at Faculty of Mathematics of the MGU and lived in this prestigious area. Jack should have figured that out earlier. But then, he had never heard Anya's family name mentioned in a conversation and, when they met, she had introduced herself to him simply as Anya.

Still, it didn't explain why she acted as if it was her home. Jack hated to admit it, but he didn't like it one little bit.

The Berkeley team arrived at around quarter past one and after yet another round of handshakes and greetings, everybody sat down around the table as directed by the host: Sarah and Kyle on both sides of Jack at the head of the table, with the rest of the Berkeley team next to them, and the Soviet team congregated around Ennis at the other end and Anya opposite him. Jack found himself seated among the Russian speakers at the end of the table, between Ennis and Anton, facing Liova.

Once Anya had helped Varvara Petrovna, the Volkonsky's housekeeper and cook, lay out the starters, she resumed her place and started the small talk, like a dutiful hostess.

She asked Jack whether he watched Soviet movies and which one he liked best. Jack didn't have to think twice about it, but pretended mulling over the question, then said his favorite was 'Moscow Doesn't Believe in Tears'. That made Anya beam with delight and look triumphantly at the boys, who gaped at Jack with interest and mumbled their approval. He was also rewarded with a quick brush of a leg against his under the table as Ennis leaned back in his chair, looking pleased, too. The conversation about Soviet cinematography continued as Ilya asked if Jack had seen the latest World War II epic 'Come and See' by Elem Klimov.

Jack had seen it a few months back and was shaken to the core. The film was about the extermination of Belorussian villagers by the S.S., Nazi's special forces, in 1941. Never before had a Soviet-made movie portrayed in such a brutally naturalistic manner the executions of local people by German soldiers, aided by local militia. The Soviet audience had been shocked and devastated and couldn't stop raving about the movie and its director ever since the first screening in the spring.

As he was listening to Ilya going on about philosophical nuances of the film, Jack also tried to tune in the conversation in English at the other end. Mike was telling Prof. Volkonsky and Grisha how he, Howard and Kyle had attended the military parade on Red Square two days before. They had found the show 'impressive and stimulating', as red-headed and enthusiastic Mike put it, and Jack thought it was probably just as well that the trio didn't speak a word of Russian and therefore missed the heavy-duty propaganda speeches given at the parade.

"By the way, Professor, why did the Defense Minister give a speech at the parade and not Gorbachev?" Howard asked when Mike had finally shut up. "Does it signify anything in particular?"

"I wouldn't think so." Volkonsky took a sip of the fortified wine that Russians favored from his crystal glass. "It's just a long-standing tradition that Minister of Defense gives a speech at a military parade, not General Secretary."

"Do you think if he'd delivered the speech, Gorbachev would have _extended_ the moratorium on nuclear tests that he'd announced earlier?" Sarah directed her question at no one in particular, a shade of taunting in her piercing eyes.

Although it was thinly veiled, it seemed that among the Russians only Prof. Volkonsky and Ennis had picked up on the provocative undertone. Nevertheless, the name of their leader got the attention of the rest of the Russians.

It was Val who offhandedly offered Sarah an answer.

"Why not?" he shrugged. "He seems quite daring with his first year initiatives, doesn't he?"

Sarah was about to retort, but Ilya broke in with a question. "Do you think your government will agree to Gorbachev's proposal of a joint moratorium?"

Jack fought the impulse to sigh. He didn't like political debates between Americans and Soviets, mainly because while he had his own view on it, he had to play the role of someone with a different opinion. So he tried to avoid them whenever possible. It didn't look like he would be able to skip it this time, though. Maybe he could just keep his mouth shut and let these youngsters talk. He prayed that nobody would ask him a direct question.

"Hard to tell," said Val thoughtfully. "I'd like to say yes, it will, but it really depends. My understanding is that both sides agree on the big picture, but disagree on technical details."

"Maybe results of our program can help the decision-making process." Liova suggested, looking around the table. "Of course, if they made them known to our leaders. For the summit in Geneva, for example. You think so?" he asked, addressing Val.

"Possibly. Who knows." Val shrugged again.

Grisha stood up, excused himself and headed out to the corridor. He bumped against Ennis's chair as he passed and almost imperceptively nodded his head toward the door. Ennis moved his head slightly in response, but he remained seated. Nobody seemed to pay any heed to the little exchange, except Jack. And Anya. She watched Grisha's departure quizzically, but stayed for a while, then after a few minutes excused herself and headed for the kitchen, taking Anton with her.

"Maybe that is why our project is… er, we are rushed at the end? Mikhail Sergeyevich, what do you think?" Ilya asked.

Prof. Vol. smiled enigmatically. "It's entirely possible… Perhaps we should ask Jack about it. He's the coordinator of the project, isn't he?" He looked at Jack with an innocent half smile.

Ok, so he was put on the spot after all. The thing was, Jack had learned about the early completion of the project from Anton, at Lara's birthday over a month ago. Since then he had not been able to pinpoint exactly who had decided to rush the program and release the results earlier than originally planned. The Soviet team had been pointing to its American counterparts and vice versa. The only thing Jack was certain about was that it had not been instigated by the USIA.

Jack smiled and said vaguely, "I agree with you, Mikhail Sergeyevich. I, too, hope that the results of this project will facilitate the decision making process by our leaders."

"Irrespective of the results of our modeling, I don't believe nuclear weapons would actually be used in a modern war," Mike declared suddenly. "Their main purpose is nuclear war deterrence. To discourage the enemy… er, the opposite side… from attacking you."

There was only a slight pause before Liova asked, his tone challenging, "What about Hiroshima and Nagasaki?"

"That was the only time they were used," Mike insisted. "Exactly because we were the only country that had the nuclear weapons. They've never been used since, have they? And the reason we've been able to maintain stability in a number of precarious situations is exactly because of its unique characteristic—their use assures mutual destruction."

"There's absolutely no evidence that nuclear weapons have _ever_ worked as an effective deterrence measure against attacks," Sarah interjected, her tone firm, no-nonsense. "In fact, there _is _actually evidence that it's pretty useless as an instrument of deterrence."

Jack noticed Val roll his eyes and mouth 'here we go'. Everyone remaining at the table turned their attention to Sarah and Mike.

"What do you mean 'useless'?" Mike asked, obviously trying to keep his tone light. "What evidence are we talking about?"

"I'm talking about _historical_ evidence, Mike. Like the Yom Kippur War. Or the most recent Falklands conflict, for example. Neither the Arab coalition nor the Argentinean had nuclear weapons _and_ they knew perfectly well that the Israelis and the Britons had them. Yet they attacked them first anyway. So what good did they do for the Israelis and the Brits?" She paused but nobody spoke. "Moreover," she continued, "they never got down to using their nuclear weapons. So I actually agree with you here, Mike: nuclear weapons are never used in a modern war, regardless of whether the opposition has them or not. The Korean and Vietnam wars are another examples of when _we_ had the weapons, the other guys didn't: we never used them and in the end lost the war. And so my question is: why bother having them, then?" She looked at the men around the table and concluded, "It's useless as far as a military strategy is concern. Total waste of time and money."

"Ah! That's where you might be wrong, Sarah," Val butted in with a taunting smile. "This is where the economics comes into play. For some, it means _lots _of money. And who cares if it's coming from the taxpayers' pockets."

"Do many Americans think like you?" Ilya asked, looking flabbergasted. "Perhaps not your leaders, though."

Val shrugged again, but smiled amiably. "America is a free country, Ilya. Anyone can think whatever they want. What matters is whom you know to promote your thinking… But I agree with Mike. Maybe the reason why we haven't had a global war since World War II is because of the sheer size of the nuclear arsenals we've accumulated. Well, I mean a _total annihilation_ type of war, not the regional conflicts where nuclear weapons might not deemed necessary."

"Maybe we haven't had such a war because nobody wants it in the first place?" Jack asked tentatively. "Who wants its population to be annihilated in a nuclear conflict? Nobody wins in that scenario." He looked questioningly around the table, seeking for support.

It was Kyle who responded to him, leaning forward to see Jack from the other end of the table. "That's not exactly technically correct, Jack. Nuclear weapons are not designed to annihilate the population of a country."

Of course, he was a specialist in nuclear engineering, wasn't he?

"No?" Jack smiled sheepishly at him. "Sorry, I'm not a specialist on nuclear weapons. But that's the impression one gets from listening to depictions of what 'the other side' is gonna do."

"It's all propaganda. Nuclear weapons are designed to annihilate the other side's nuclear and conventional arsenal, targeting it as accurately as possible. Admittedly, these weapons are largely imprecise and as such can result in major collateral damages—civilians."

"What about Hiroshima and Nagasaki?" Liova asked again. "They are not military targets."

"No, they weren't," Kyle agreed. "But in that particular case, it was a test of a new weapon we had developed. Nobody actually knew what the consequences would be. Everybody was just hoping that it would finally draw an end to the war."

"It doesn't matter that nobody had any idea about physical consequences," Sarah said dismissively. "It worked. The Japanese surrendered right after Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

"The Japanese surrendered because we declared war on them and entered their territory," objected Liova.

Sarah shrugged. "That's one way of looking at it. _I_ believe that the offensive use of nuclear weapon in this particular case was a critical factor for the end of the war. If not decisive. Maybe not for the _right reasons_, but it still _was_ decisive. Unfortunately, this single instance when it was used against the civilian targets now defines the deterrent aspect of our nuclear strategy. Which in my view is an erroneous approach."

"Hmm, it's an interesting point of view, Sarah," Volkonsky finally chipped in. "I have to say, I agree with you — in a way. Destruction of civilian targets has never been any kind of deterrent at all on the grand scale of military actions. Simply because generals and politicians never hesitated to either attack or sacrifice civilians in order to achieve their goals in a war." He ignored the shocked expressions on Liova and Ilya's faces. "But that is exactly why the claim that Hiroshima and Nagasaki played a decisive role in the end of the WWII is highly debatable. If my memory doesn't fail me, Americans started bombing Japanese cities in March of 1945. Over sixty cities were bombed. All civilian targets. Yet, the Japanese didn't surrender till August."

"You're absolutely right, professor—when we dropped our nuclear bombs," Sarah stated.

"I agree," Volkonsky conceded, with an amiable smile. "It's so easy to perceive them as playing a decisive role, because the act of surrender happened shortly after the bombings. What is disputable is the claim that they played a decisive role _because_ they were dropped on civilian targets… Allow me to be a little controversial and present you with a hypothetical scenario. Imagine for a moment that Hitler developed nuclear weapons before Americans and by 1945 had a few dozen nuclear bombs. What would be the immediate assumption about what he would use the bombs for?"

"To destroy the Soviet Union and the allies," said Ilya.

"To conquer the world," stated Sarah.

"To conquer the world indeed." Volkonsky nodded. "Now assume he would have used his bombs against the allies and dropped them over civilian targets—that's what it's usually meant by 'extermination', isn't it? What difference do you think it would have made? By that time, Britain and the Soviet Union would have already suffered sustained bombing of its cities by Germans. Some major cities would have been obliterated. Like Stalingrad. Or had millions starve to death, like Leningrad. Yet, that didn't deter either the British or the Soviet people from persevering and fighting till the end. If anything, it actually made people more united, more determined to win. Don't you agree? Now, had Hitler developed the nuclear bombs first, London and Moscow might have shared a similar fate with Hiroshima and Nagasaki. A few square miles in New York and Washington would probably have been destroyed. More people would have been killed. But it wouldn't have averted the defeat of Germany and Japan, would it? Eventually, the allies would have prevailed. I don't believe the result of the war would have been reversed had Germany had developed nuclear weapons first. Now, what it _would_ have changed, is _our perception _of nuclear weapons. Instead of being a symbol of the victor's military might, they would have been regarded as the weapons of an evil man used for evil purposes. Instead of being a decisive instrument that secures victory in war and uphold peace, they would have been looked upon with contempt, as a symbol of failure."

The young people around the table gazed at Volkonsky in silence, trying to process the idea he had just suggested and a message behind it. Jack threw a quick glance at Ennis on his left. He was stunned, too, and looked at his grandfather like he was seeing him for the first time. The young man hadn't even tried to participate in the conversation around the table but looked mostly at his plate, occasionally nibbling at the food. Jack was sure, however, that he hadn't missed a word of the exchange.

Ilya exclaimed, "Mikhail Sergeyevich, what are you saying…?"

"What Mikhail Sergeyevich is so diplomatically saying is that the American nuclear policy is totally flawed because it relies on two assumptions that he believes are false," Sarah interjected, while looking at Volkonsky, trying to gauge his reaction. "The first assumption is that nuclear weapons are militarily decisive. Because we Americans take for granted that the Second World War was won thanks to them. And the second is that nuclear weapons are historically justified. Because we believe that if Hitler had had them, he might have used them to conquer the world. Am I correct, Professor?"

"It's always a pleasure to discuss historical events with you, my dear Sarah." Volkonsky smiled benevolently at her and took another sip of his wine. "You have a unique ability to interpret things from a different perspective."

Sarah beamed. "So do you, Mikhail Sergeyevich. The pleasure is all mine."

But Mike was not done with the debate yet. "Okay, if the American policy is flawed, what about the Soviet Union's? You are part of this equation, aren't you? The buildup of nuclear arms has been on both sides and as far as I know the Soviet arsenals exceed ours at times."

Ilyia and Liova stared at him—how could an American post grad student know about the size of not only American but also Soviet nuclear arsenals? Everybody turned their attention to Volkonsky, waiting for his response.

"Well, the Soviet Union developed its first nuclear bomb several years after America," he replied reluctantly, choosing his words carefully. "As a result, our nuclear policy has been shaped as a reaction to American's policy implementation. Admittedly, it has also been built upon the tenets of Marxism Leninism teachings about the class conflict. Which I know you do not share… Well, I think maybe we shouldn't delve further into this subject, lest we wage a new debate about capitalism and class conflict. May I suggest we proceed to our main course? Liova, could you kindly ask Varvara Petrovna to serve the main course now? And ask An'echka, Grisha and Anton to return, please."

...

They stayed clear of other loaded topics for the rest of the lunch and it ended amiably at around three o'clock with Val and Mike's account of the group's trip to Leningrad a few weeks earlier. But afterward, Jack's thoughts kept returning to Ennis's surprised face as he listened to Prof. Volkonsky's nuclear weapons theory. He looked as though he had never heard his grandfather talk about it. Neither had the others at the lunch, it seemed, the Berkeley team included. Did it mean that he had directed his 'theory' at Jack, the only American 'official' at the gathering? If so, what had he been trying to convey? The two things that had stuck with Jack were Volkonsky's statement that Americans' belief about the role of nuclear weapons in a war was erroneous, and his more veiled allusion that they could also be wrong in believing that nuclear weapons would be used by an evil empire to conquer the world.

There was a third thing that bothered him, and Jack spent more time pondering over it that night: whether Vera Vonkonskaya knew that her son was gay. Ennis seemed to believe that she didn't. Somehow Jack felt that she did. Or maybe she denied even to herself that she knew. Especially if she knew that her husband had been queer, too. Which Jack began to think might be true. Wasn't it why she had left him with her five year old son? Wasn't it why she had been so adamant, according to Ennis, that he was to become a scientist, not a long-haired rocker, the type who was always into unacceptable misdeeds? If that were the case, she would have been suspicious of Jack when she learned about his friendship with Ennis. If she was any kind of a Russian at all, she might even confront him. Especially because Jack was an American, like her husband… About whom she looked so wounded even now. Or did she?

Christ, this was so twisted, so bloody complicated. He wished he hadn't accepted Joe Cohen's 'special assignment'… But then, he wouldn't have known Ennis, would have never known how it felt to… to be with him, to be in his arms, with Ennis gazing at him with that mysterious look in his eyes that made Jack go all weak inside. Made him feel like he would do anything for Ennis… Of course he wouldn't, it was just a feeling, a momentary weakness, one he shouldn't let stick if he was to do what he needed to do. It was his fucking job after all, goddamn it!

* * *

_Soundtrack: Imagine, John Lennon_


	13. Chapter 13

- 13 -

It was cold and grey, but at least the rain had stopped during the night, for which Jack was grateful—he wasn't particularly keen on jogging under a freezing rain. But he had to call Ennis to fix the time and place to meet that day and jogging was the most legit way of getting out on the street early on a Sunday morning.

Jack did one big loop, toward _Moskva_ River, then around _Proletarskaya_ Metro station and stopped at the third telephone booth he spotted on the way back.

The phone rang four times and Ennis's voice kicked in, telling Jack through the static noise to leave a message because he wasn't home.

Jack checked his watch. It was 8:07a.m. Hadn't they agreed yesterday that he would call Ennis this morning? Maybe the boy had stepped out to buy something… Which was not likely: Ennis had said he would be waiting for the call. But there was nothing Jack could do but wait to make another call a bit later.

He returned home, showered, changed and went out again. Grabbed a quick breakfast of _blyny_ pancakes with hot chocolate that the Russians called _kakao,_ standing up in a tiny _blinnaya_ shop near the Metro station.

At around 9:00a.m. he called Ennis again. And got the same message.

This time it left Jack a little worried. He didn't think Ennis was avoiding him. Which meant that something might have happened. Possibly yesterday, after their lunch at his Grandfather's place.

Or maybe the boy had just stayed there overnight and hadn't managed to return early this morning.

He called again at 10:00 a.m. from downtown. Again, Ennis wasn't home. But the message on the answering machine had changed: 'Sorry, I'm not home. My mother has been hospitalized. Please call me again late in the evening'.

Jack let out an exhale of relief – he had been more worried than he'd initially thought. And it immediately made him feel a bit guilty: there had been some sort of accident after all, albeit not with Ennis. But it was his mother and the boy must be worried sick.

Jack picked up the heavy handset again and quickly dialed Lara's number.

Her mother answered the phone. Jack exchanged a few pleasantries with her, then she put Lara on. But not before telling Jack that she'd like to invite him to come around for lunch one of these days.

Jack chatted with Lara for a few minutes, then at the end casually mentioned that Ennis had promised to return the LiveAid tapes today. Jack had just called him and got the message that his mother was in the hospital—did Lara know anything about it?

She did. Apparently Vera Mikhailovna had had a dizzy spell, fallen in the street and broken her ankle. Lara had also heard that Ennis had taken his grandfather to see his mother in the hospital that morning. She and Anya planned to go visit her sometime this afternoon too, to take home cooking and some fruits for her.

This was it, an opportunity to get Vera Volkonskaya to accept him. Jack asked if it would be strange if he came visit her in the hospital—Vera Mikhailovna and her family had been real nice to him the day before and he was awfully sorry to hear about her accident. Lara was very pleased with his offer and they quickly agreed that he would pick her and Anya up at 3:00 p.m., on the corner of the street where they all lived.

Jack dropped into a duty free shop near the Embassy, bought oranges and bananas that he knew Russians favored but which were rarely available in shops, then spent the rest of the morning at Uncle Sam's, shooting the breeze with contractors and marines who drifted in for their Sunday brunch, a beer and some gossip.

Around 1:00p.m. Stella Richi turned up in her quest for lunch and company. Jack was sitting at the bar, giving survival tips to a newbie contractor in exchange for a beer, when he saw her coming in.

Normally he would have pretended not to notice her, in hopes that she would find herself some other more willing target. But it'd been a while since Amanda left and he hadn't been seen out with a woman—at least, not the type people would gossip about afterwards and would prompt his buddies at Uncle Sam's to wink and ask how it had been—so Jack thought he should make an effort. He waved at her and invited her to join them at the bar.

Stella was only too happy to join. When the contractor left, they moved to the table in the far corner. Then Jack endured an hour of handholding and her rubbing her legs against his under the table, while Stella bitched and gossiped about her colleagues, about one of her bosses' wife who frequented the Marine and Seabees dens with her, then about some girls the Marines took to their rooms sometimes who she thought might not be Germans like they claimed.

Oh, yeah, those 'German' girls again. He thought he should really have a word with William about them. Yeah, that's what he'd do on Monday.

At a quarter past two Jack excused himself, saying he had to visit an acquaintance at the hospital. She let him go, but not before giving him her phone number and making Jack promise that they would catch up during the week. For 'a dinner date and all', she emphasized, and winked at him. Jack had to make an effort to look thrilled when he said he looked forward to it.

Just after 3:00p.m. Lara and Anya clambered into his Mustang and they took off to Botkin Hospital, one of the largest clinical hospitals in Moscow. It comprised a dozen elegant pre-revolutionary buildings surrounded by small squares and alleys with century-old trees, now almost bare against the bleak sky. Anya directed them to the main building and led the way to the emergency ward on the ground floor. She told a nurse at the front desk that they were to visit Vera Mikhailovna Volkonskaya and were directed without further questions to the first floor to a special care section of the ward.

In contrast to what he had heard about Soviet hospitals, the room for two where Vera Mikhailovna stayed was not very large, but cozy, with a tall ceiling, a large window looking out into a small patio, padded chairs and even an armchair for visiting relatives. There was also a bouquet of gold and red autumn leaves in a peasant-style clay jug on the windowsill and a small TV set against the wall opposite the beds.

Vera was propped up on two large pillows in her bed, with a warm blanket covering her up to her chest, wearing what looked like her own gown, not hospital's. She looked pale but alert as she talked to her roommate, a younger woman in her mid thirties, who sat crossed-legged on top of her bed half a dozen steps away.

Vera looked startled at first when she saw Jack tagging behind the girls. She offered him a weak, tight-lipped smile when he kissed her hand and put the plastic bag with fruits on her bedside table. But her smile brightened just a fraction when she saw her roommate's eyes go wide with admiration and heard Lara whisper loudly, 'Didn't I tell you, Vera Mikhailovna? He's soo attentive!' She thanked them all, but also scolded them softly for bringing so much food, as Varvara Petrovna, the housekeeper, was going to bring her cooking later that day anyway.

In the end, the three of them spent half an hour at the hospital and most of the time it was Jack who ran his mouth, entertaining the ladies with stories of his own hospital experience while stationed in Germany, when he had been taken into ER with an acute case of appendicitis. He left Tanya the roommate, Lara and even Anya rolling with laughter. Vera's smile was still weak, but at least he could see some peace in her otherwise troubled eyes.

As they were leaving, Jack overheard Tanya asking Lara quietly if he was her fiancé. Lara whispered in a conspiratorial tone, 'Will be, if I want to'. He hoped Vera had heard that little exchange, too. He knew eventually he'd have to go even further, if needs be, to make sure that Vera looked at him like she did at Seva, Grisha, Anton and other guys Ennis hung out with. If he was to hang out openly with Ennis, that is. He wanted to… No, he _needed_ to.

On the way back to the girls' place, Jack asked if they wanted to go to the movies. Anya bailed, saying that she had promised to help her mother with some chore at home, but Lara jumped at it. So Jack spent the rest of the afternoon and most of the evening with her.

First they went to see an old French action flick, starring Jean-Pierre Belmondo, at the movie theatre at the base of the mammoth Hotel Rossia. Then Jack took her to dinner at the hotel's restaurant on the second floor, overlooking the multicolored onion domes of St. Basil Cathedral at the southern end of Red Square.

During the dinner they talked mostly about Vera Mikhailovna and her work. Lara told Jack that in addition to translating English language contemporary literature, Vera had also been writing a historical book about her ancestors, the house Volkonskys and the house of Rezanovs, which should be ready for publishing sometime the following year.

It was almost 10:00p.m. when Jack took her home. He tried to give her a goodbye peck on her cheek, but Lara turned her face up and snaked her arms around his neck and they ended up kissing. He had to peel her off his body again, saying apologetically that it was better that they were not seen 'doing this' on the street. She looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded, smiled at him pensively, said goodbye and hurried into the turn of the century building where she lived.

Jack stopped on his way home, parked his car on a side street and walked a couple of blocks until he found a phone booth he liked. It was tucked away in a corner of a building, out of reach of the dim streetlight.

Ennis picked up the phone on the third ring.

"Alyo?"

"_Privet_, Ennis. It's me."

"_Privet_, Jack. I'm sorry I wasn't—"

"It's alright. I know you had to visit you mother. In fact, I just visited her this afternoon."

"I know. With Lara and Anya." He sounded tired. Or something.

"You do?" But then, why not? Jack was pretty sure either Lara or Anya or both had already called Ennis with the news.

"Yes. I came shortly after you guys left."

"Oh, alright. You took your grandfather in again?"

"No. Varvara Petrovna. With a dinner for my mother."

Yeah, he was definitely upset. Maybe that woman Tanya, his mother's roommate, had said something about him and Lara. She had behaved like Jack was her boyfriend and he hadn't made any attempt to distance himself from her, thought it was all good for Vera's consumption. Now it was backfiring. But then, he had never said anything about _not_ going out with women, even if they were Ennis's friends. What the heck was the guy expecting from him anyway?

He sighed. "Ennis, what did Tanya said?"

"Nothing," Ennis said tersely, then as if realizing that it had sounded rude, he sighed too and added, "Just chattered about you all the time. Even my mother is taken with you." He chuckled, but it came out sad and grated at Jack's insides. "Normally, she doesn't like Americans… Well, now except maybe you."

"That's all?" Jack knew it wasn't all, but needed the young man to say it.

"Tanya said Lara was very lucky to have a fiancé like you. I agree."

"Ennis—"

"You don't have to explain anything. I understand, Jack, honest! Just need some time to get use to… uh, _this_. I will. Don't worry about me."

_You understand, huh?_ "Ennis, I also took Lara out to the movies and for dinner afterwards." Better he hear it from Jack than from someone else, worse still from Lara.

There was a moment of silence, then Ennis stated quietly, but firmly, "I understand."

_No you don't, boy. You haven't the slightest idea what it takes to keep yourself out of harm's way! _

"Ennis, I think your mother knows."

It wasn't exactly the right place neither the right time, but he needed Ennis at least to be aware of what was going on. And then think of what needed to be done to… deal with it.

"_What_?! About…?"

"You."

Ennis was silent for a few seconds, deliberating about what Jack had just said. When he finally spoke, his tone was calm and confident. "No. It cannot be. She can't know. Nobody knows… Except you."

Jack closed his eyes for a moment. He couldn't really tell Ennis that his mother might know because she had also known or at least suspected about his father, could he? He wasn't supposed to know anything about Ennis's father.

"I think she does, Ennis." _I saw it in her eyes yesterday!_ "Trust me: mothers know, or sense, about their children, no matter what. That is why we need her to think… the way she's thinking now. About Lara. And she needs to think the same way about Anya. Or any other girl you know. You know what I mean?"

There was an even longer pause this time and Jack prompted, "Ennis? You still there?"

"Yes… I understand. I don't like it. But I understand what you're trying to do."

He didn't say he was going to do as Jack had suggested, but at least now he knew what had to be done. And that was good enough for now.

"We'll talk more about it when we meet. It's important that everybody think, um, the way they think _now_. And we need to try and keep it that way. Alright?"

"Alright… When can we meet? We still need to talk about the original nuclear winter project."

"I'll call you on Tuesday. See if we can meet at the Lenin Library on Wednesday or Thursday. If not, it'll be next Saturday."

"Alright. I will be waiting for the call on Tuesday. At this time, right?"

"Yes… And Ennis? I wish with all my heart that I could change how things are in this world. But I can't. So I try to manage them somehow. I'm sorry. I just don't know what else can be done about it."

"I understand. Talk to you on Tuesday. _Poka_," he said and hung up quickly.

Jack lingered in the booth for a few moments, staring at the heavy handset in his hand, contemplating dialing Ennis's number again and telling him that… Tell him what? What else could he say on the phone that would make Ennis feel better? There was nothing he could do and the boy would just have to deal with it.

He hung the handset up in its cradle and walked out of the booth, returned to where his car was parked and drove home.

He felt like an asshole and couldn't understand why. He'd _had_ to tell Ennis what he should do to take care of himself, right? Who else would, if not Jack? The boy was completely oblivious and had no self-defense skills whatsoever, set to expose himself at the drop of a hat. That he had survived so far without anyone figuring him out was a miracle, probably thanks to his totally cool, intensely masculine exterior…

… The one that would bring Jack Twist down one day, no doubt—_if_ he wasn't careful and got carried away. Christ, he wished he could take the boy back to California, to his ranch—his _future_ ranch—with his little horse and cow operation, where the two of them would just dig in and let the world implode, he didn't care… Why couldn't the world just let them be? It was nobody's business but theirs, theirs alone...

_The two of us? Ours alone?! You're out of your fucking mind, Twist! You're emotionally compromised – on your very first serious assignment. Christ, you're in such deep shit!_

_So I am. Big deal! I'll shake it off. I will. I'll ask Joe for a short break and get out of here for a while. He said I could request it if I ever needed it. _

_Yeah, and what're you gonna tell him, huh? You've just started the assignment; you're nowhere with it yet and already asking for a break? They'll probably fire you, like they fired that Ward guy, without a second thought._

_Fine. Let them fire me. I'll just move on with my ranch sooner rather than later. _

_Yeah? How convenient. And what about Ennis, huh? What will happen to him after you quit? You'll leave his ass high and dry, just like that? What kind of a friend are you, Jack fucking Twist? He thinks of you as his best friend and you? God, you're such a fucking sham! No wonder you don't have anyone you can call your friend._

… Except Ennis. _If_ he still wanted to be friends with Jack, should he happen to learn about Jack's cowardly thoughts.

Right. He wasn't going anywhere. He'd stay right here and see to it that Ennis Del Mar Volkonsky was safe and knew how to deal with being who he was, until it was time for Jack Twist to leave the country. He knew he'd leave one day, but that day hadn't come yet. In the meantime, he had a job to do. And he had to try to find a way of dealing with his temporary infatuation with young Ennis. Somehow. Before it was too late.

* * *

_Soundtrack: Straight From The Heart, by Bryan Adams_


	14. Chapter 14

- 14 -

The Gubchenko defection-redefection scandal continued spilling out into the press like dirty water into a sewer.

Late on Friday, the CIA issued a three-page biography of Gubchenko, listing all his spying posts and responsibilities, in an effort to show his importance and how much the Agency had learnt from him about his activities with the KGB. The report was intended to be a demonstration of sorts that Gubchenko was no double agent. However, it was effectively an admission that the Agency had in fact screwed up the handling of its highest ranking defector ever.

Despite the widespread criticism in the intelligence community, the White House refused to join the chorus. Furthermore, it issued a statement saying that there would be no investigation into the CIA's alleged mismanagement of the defector and, as far as the administration was concerned, the case was closed. That served as more proof of the invincibility of Director Casey, whom the press called 'the President's favorite'. The only concern that an unnamed top White House official expressed was that Gorbachev might use this case as a trump card at the upcoming summit and run roughshod over Reagan, the way he had over Schultz a week earlier in Moscow.

The preparations for the summit scheduled for the following week in Geneva dominated most of the activities at the Embassy, and as a result William couldn't book the Tank for a debrief with Jack before late Tuesday evening. What he did tell Jack, though, was that he was dispatching him to Munich for a few days to assist the office there with the preparation of an exchange agreement with the Sovs. Jack was to leave on Wednesday and stay there as long as required.

So at last he was going have a special debrief with Joe Cohen.

Jack still hadn't made up his mind yet on what he was going to tell the Head of Clandestine Ops about where he was with his 'development' of Ennis Del Mar Volkonsky. _Shit_. He had to come up with a strategy and a plan for handling it if he wanted Joe to support his proposal to not pitch and blackmail the boy now based on his 'queer factor' alone. Jack was positive that Joe would agree. Well, if he didn't work out that Jack was emotionally involved (_temporarily!_) with his potential agent, that is. And that was the main thing Jack needed to figure how to handle, both for Joe Cohen's and his own sakes.

Jack spent a couple of hours writing a three-page report on his lunch at Prof. Volkonsky and his thoughts about the message the professor tried to convey through the conversation about nuclear weapons and WWII history. He outlined the conversation and provided only his two key assumptions as he knew full well that he would be asked for details at a follow-up debrief, possibly with the chief of the Moscow Station, too. Jack spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon trying to formulate what exactly he was going to tell Joe.

Late in the afternoon, when he brought his report to William, Jack told his boss that he had noticed some strange women, reportedly from German embassy, hanging out at the Marines Club on Saturdays and suggested that Nurimbekoff have a word with Don Stuart. Or maybe the Station should take a closer look at the situation.

William shrugged and noted flatly that Jack could report the incident to Don Stuart himself, since _he _was a frequenter of the 'establishment' and _he_ had witnessed it.

Jack nodded, said alright, and went back to his office to figure out how to get hold of the regional security officer—unofficially. He didn't want to go to his office and lodge an official account. Besides the fact that he hung out with Frank and the crowd and they considered him a friend, who wanted be an official whistle-blower in a tight-knit community like the American Embassy in the heart of Soviet Russia? He decided that he would hunt Don down at Uncle Sam's, mention it to him casually and ask him to keep it off the record. Jack didn't like it one bit, but thought it was better than doing nothing at all.

Stella called Jack at the office just as he was about to leave, to ask if he wanted to have drinks that day, or dinner – or both. He told her that unfortunately he could only do drinks and a quick dinner because he needed to get back to the office and finish a report he was working on. He was leaving on a business trip on Wednesday and had to clean up a pile of things before that. She said 'poor baby' and they agreed to meet at the back gate in fifteen minutes and head for the bar at Intourist Hotel at the head of Red Square.

As he put down the phone, Jack recalled that Amanda used to like to hang out at that bar, too. Senior diplomats and well-established journalists frequented the place; so, naturally, did the KGB and of course high-priced prostitutes working for the KGB. The Intourist bar was _the_ place in town to be seen, if you wanted to be considered someone of note on the local 'international scene'. Jack heard that Kim Philby, who had been living in Moscow since his defection, dropped by for a drink there once in a while, but he had never run into the legendary spymaster. Now that he thought about it, if Jack remembered his spy history course correctly Philby had been fingered to MI6 by a KGB defector and fled to the Soviet Union in 1963 – only three years after Ennis's father and his friend, colleague _and_ _allegedly _lover, Martin Hamilton, had defected.

He and Stella had drinks, then a snack dinner at the Intourist bar while flirting loudly and unreservedly, to the annoyance of a prim-looking, obviously foreign couple two tables away. Then, already high, Stella tried to persuade him to take her to the ladies, or to the gents, whichever suited him better. Jack laughed and said in a loud whisper that he wasn't too keen on starring in porn videos produced by the KGB, which made her giggle uncontrollably for a while.

They left shortly afterward. Jack drove her home, necked with her in the dark entrance of her apartment building and promised to come up next time, when he was back from his business trip. He returned to his car, lit a cigarette and just sat there smoking for a minute or two, trying to get rid of the sweetish scent of Stella's perfume that made him wanted to puke.

He stopped and called Ennis on the way home. Jack was ready to hang up when Ennis answered the phone.

"Alyo?"

"It's me, Ennis. _Privet_."

"Jack. How are you?"

Why did he sound formal? Was he at a loss since Jack was supposed to call him the next day, not today?

"Great! Thanks… Hey, listen, about meeting up. Can we do it tomorrow afternoon? I'm leaving on Wednesday. A business trip has cropped up unexpectedly." When no answer came he prompted, "Ennis? You there?"

"Yes. I'm thinking… Jack, I can't do it tomorrow. I'm having an exam in the afternoon." Ennis sounded a little desperate.

"Oh. I didn't know you were having an exam…" He didn't know anything about the boy's studies for that matter. _Some good friend, huh, Twist_? "Hasn't the semester just recently started?"

"Yes. Sorry, I didn't tell you. I'm taking my semester exams early so that I can focus on my crash course at the conservatory."

"At the conservatory?" Jack was confused now.

"Yes. We, I mean Wings, decided to take part in a rock-lab in Leningrad in March. So Seva and I are taking courses at the conservatory. To improve ourselves, you know… I wanted to tell you earlier, just didn't have a chance…"

"Oh. Alright. Um, it looks like we really need to catch up on… everything, doesn't it?"

"Yes. When will you come back?"

"In a week… I think. Maybe a bit earlier. I've only learned about it today. So I don't have a firm travel schedule as—"

"Can we meet now?"

"Now?" Jack looked at his watch. It showed 10:17p.m.

"Yes. Where are you?" Ennis was in his business-like mode, not accepting no for an answer.

"I'm on my way home… calling from the street, near _Avtozavodskaya _Metro station."

"I can get there in forty minutes… Jack?"

Oh, screw it! "Alright. I'll meet you at the head of _Pushinskaya_ Embankment, just off the Third Ring Road. Maybe we can take a stroll along Gorky Park."

"Sure. Will be there in twenty five, thirty minutes max."

"Alright. Just park somewhere at the beginning of the street. I'll find you."

"Right. On my way." He hung up quickly.

Jack got to the place in less than twenty minutes, turned off the ring road to _Andreevskaya_ Embankment on the left, instead of _Pushkinskaya_ Embankment on the right. He quickly found an empty parking lot that belonged to an old office building nearby, tucked his car in the far corner, and walked under the bridge to the other side.

It started drizzling, the fine spray turning the murky glow of the street lamps into an orange haze. The street was empty, except for an occasional truck or car. Jack turned up the collar of his trendy military jacket, crossed over to the other side of the street, walked a few hundred meters up, then crossed the street and headed back. He crossed the street again, ready for another purposeful stroll down the street when he saw Ennis's car turning into the street. He took a few steps toward the curb, into the car's headlights.

Ennis stopped right next to him and Jack got in quickly.

"Don't think it's a good idea to walk now," he said in English, scooping the raindrops from his face with his hand. "And it's pretty damn cold, too. May hit zero tonight."

"I'm sorry. I should have thought about that," Ennis said, his tone pained. He handed Jack his handkerchief, turned on the heater, then pulled a pack of Marlboros out of his jacket pocket and offered them to Jack.

"No worries. I'll live." Jack smiled at him encouragingly and took the pack. "Thanks… So, let's take a drive then, friend."

As they took off, Jack flicked out a cigarette, lit it with his lighter and took a deep drag.

"Yeah, I needed that," he said with a long, satisfied exhale and handed the cigarette over to Ennis.

"Tastes better when you share, right?" Ennis mumbled and threw a quick glance at Jack, the corners of his lips curling up in a knowing half-smile. Then he put the cigarette between his lips, inhaled on it deeply and handed it back to Jack.

_Damn_. Since when had this man started reading his mind? Maybe he _had_ known Jack since he was nine like he claimed. Jack chuckled. "Damn right."

They drove in silence for a couple of minutes, taking turns dragging on their cigarette. When they'd finished it, Jack threw it out of the window and turned to Ennis.

"Alright. I have an unpleasant story and unpleasant news that we need to talk about. Which one you want to discuss first?"

"Let's start with the story. It's about my grandfather original nuclear winter study, isn't it?"

"You're right, Ennis. I didn't want to tell you at first—you'll understand why. But now that you're asking, I should tell you the… um, things I've heard about it. From William. Like I told you on the phone yesterday."

He told Ennis the story that Marat and William had vetted, looking straight ahead of him. He tried to soften as much as possible the idea that his grandfather might have worked on the project at the order of the KGB. Ennis listened to him without questions or interruptions, occasionally casting quick glances at him.

When Jack had finished, Ennis was silent for a minute, chewing on the inside of his lower lip. "It means my grandfather is cooperating with the _organs_, doesn't it?" he finally asked. When Jack didn't respond, he sighed and continued, his eyes fixed firmly on the road, "It makes sense… I suppose…"

"It does?" Jack was caught completely by surprise. He'd expected disbelief, denial, even anger, but not this.

"Yeah… He has always been able to, uh, protect me from _them_. When they tried to recruit me..." He threw a quick glance at Jack. "A few times… I didn't want to think how he did that."

"Did what?"

"Grandfather told me when I entered the University that I would be approached by the organs. Someone at the University. They would try to make me to… um, rat on others. He told me to tell him immediately if that happened. And to tell the person who approached me to go talk to him. It worked. They never came back. Not the same people, I mean."

"And you don't know how he did it," Jack said carefully.

"I didn't… uh, tried not to think about it."

They both thought about the implication of this revelation for a minute, then Jack asked cautiously, "So, knowing what you know now, do you think this original study _was… _could have been done at _their_ behest?"

Ennis didn't answer right away, but when he did, he sounded tired, resigned. "Possibly."

"Right."

Jack put his hand on the young man's thigh and squeezed it lightly. Ennis right hand immediately fell on Jack's. His long fingers wrapped around Jack's for a moment.

Jack wanted to reach out and pull the young man into a bear hug, instead he reached for his cigarettes, lit one and gave it to Ennis. By that time they'd reached the end of _Leninsky _Avenue_._ Ennis turned left on _Krymsky Val_, drove across the bridge over _Moskva_ River and along the second ring road that circled the wider downtown part of Moscow.

"I need to think about it," Ennis finally said and passed the cigarette back to him. "Can we talk about it later? When you get back?"

"Sure, Ennis. Whenever you want to talk."

"Okay, thanks. I appreciate it… Now about your news."

"Right, the news…"

Christ, he hated telling Ennis this, but who else would do it, if not him? He was supposed to be his friend, right? He had to try to live up to Ennis's expectations of him as his _best friend_.

"Ennis, I really hate having to say what I'm gonna say. And I don't know how to say it to make it easier."

"Don't worry. Just say it as it is. I'll live," Ennis replied, repeating Jack's line. He offered him a weak smile that didn't reach his eyes, then turned to watch the road again.

"Okay… I know you understand what would happen if either you or I or both of us are outted. I know you understand that you, uh, _we_ need to be extremely discreet. More discreet than normal. I mean, in _similar_ circumstances. Because I'm a foreigner and I'm being watched constantly. You know that, right?"

"Yes. I know."

"Okay, good… But it's not only that, Ennis… You said yourself that this, um, thing between us was a one-shot thing." When he noticed Ennis's jaw muscles flex he hastened to add, "Okay, so maybe it's not _one_ shot. Maybe it's as long as I'm here… And since I have been through um, _this, being _like this longer, _I _need to make sure that we're good. You'll just have to trust me, Ennis, um, on this account."

He looked expectantly at Ennis till the young man nodded.

"Good. Now, you know that eventually I'll have to leave, right? I'm sorry. I need us to be very clear about it."

"Don't worry. I know." Ennis's voice was calm and steady.

Jack sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay. So, let's talk about how we should deal with it, both now and… um, later… Goddamn, Ennis, I just need to know that you'll be _safe_, when I'm gone!" he exclaimed, caught by surprise by his own outburst.

Ennis glanced at him briefly, a startled expression on his face. "I'll be fine, Jack. Don't worry about me."

"No you won't, if you don't try to behave, to live a life like… um, _others_. You know what I mean?"

There was a pause before Ennis said, not looking at Jack, "Yes. You want me to go out with girls. Right?"

"I think you mother knows or at least suspects about you, Ennis."

Again, Ennis didn't respond right away. "She does, but not what you think," he finally said and sighed.

"What d'you mean? What _does_ she know then?" Christ, how many more surprises was this young man going to throw at him tonight?

Ennis hesitated for a moment. "Remember I told you," he began reluctantly, "that when I was a kid I, uh, had an imaginary friend—Jack from California? Well, my mother knew about _that _Jack. About me writing to him. After Father died, she took over correcting mistakes in my journals. Until I stopped writing them… when I was fourteen." He threw an apologetic glance Jack's way and shrugged awkwardly. "Anton told her that you are from California."

Jack raised one eyebrow. "Sooo, she knows that you think of me as your, um, imaginary _friend Jack_ in the flesh?"

"No," Ennis started, shaking his head, but then conceded, "Maybe she's, uh, suspecting…"

"Did your Grandfather know about your _friend Jack_?"

Ennis sighed heavily again. "He did. My whole family knew. But it was a long time ago, so he may not remember," Ennis offered hopefully. When he got no immediate response he added, "I'm sorry. This is so silly…"

It was, but somehow it didn't bother Jack at all. On the contrary, that Ennis indeed seemed to think of him as his imaginary friend come to life made Jack feel ridiculously warm and fuzzy inside.

"It's alright, Ennis. Stranger things happen in life…. I guess it may even play into our hands: hopefully, that's the only thing they'll be thinking of when they see us, um, hanging out together. We can't have them thinking anything else, right? Especially your Grandfather."

"No! He mustn't know… Nor my mother. She can't deal with that… Alright, I'll try to 'live a life like others' like you said. I'll date girls and maybe even marry one later. When you're gone." His tone was resigned and it cut at Jack's insides like broken glass.

"Ennis, I wish—"

"Is that why you want to date Lara? So that she tells my mother about… you and her?"

"Yes, if you and I are going to hang out openly. Don't you want that?"

"Of course. I understand. Especially after what you've told me about Grandfather."

"I'm sorry, Ennis. I just want you to make an effort to keep yourself out of harm's way. I wish there was another way."

"But there is another way _for you_, isn't there?" Ennis asked after a long pause.

"What do you mean?"

"Gay people can live openly in America, can't they? I've read that there're a lot of them in California. You can choose to live like them... if you want. Right?"

God, this man was incorrigible. "Well, it's not as simple as you think, Ennis."

"Why not?" Ennis threw a quick look his way.

Jack sighed and shook his head. "Well, for starters, I can't… in my line of work. I'll be thrown out of my job in a heartbeat." Aside the fact that he had never sat down and thought seriously about that possibility for even a moment—being closeted was the only way he knew how to deal with being queer. "…Besides, it only sounds like there many openly gay folks, but in reality they are just a very small minority. And they are seriously discriminated against."

"But at least you have another choice. Maybe for when you quit your job and buy a ranch, like you said you wanted."

"Yeah, maybe I will… one day," Jack said thoughtfully, watching the young man with unhidden wonder. "But that day hasn't come yet. I can't quit my job _now_… I don't _want_ to."

Ennis turned to look at him, solemn for a moment, then his face eased into a crooked little smile. "I don't want it either… I shall do as you say, Jack. Don't worry, please, I shall keep myself safe. I promise."

It was raining heavily now and the streets they cruised along were deserted. But they felt warm and safe in their constricted rolling world Ennis told Jack about Wings' plans to participate in a rock festival in Leningrad, about his decision to drop his other interests and focus on playing and writing music. Jack nodded and said he should, if it was something Ennis truly wanted. He tried not to think that it wasn't exactly the direction he was supposed to guide the young man to and that he could be in big trouble should the Agency happen to learn this. After that they just sat in companionable silence, shared another cigarette while listening to the muted sounds of the tires on the rain drenched asphalt, the sloshing and creaking of the windshield wiper, the sulky rumble of the engine. As they were nearing the starting point of the drive, Jack directed Ennis to the empty parking lot where he had left his Mustang in a dark corner. When Ennis parked next to Jack's car and turned off the headlights, they reached for each other and embraced, their mouths coming together naturally in a slow, tender kiss, and Jack's heart broke a little when Ennis whispered against his lips, 'Thank you, cowboy… for everything'.

* * *

_Soundtrack: How Do I live, by Trisha Yearwood_


	15. Chapter 15

- 15 -

Jack checked in at English Garden Guesthouse, a cozy little hotel inside Munich's largest park, at around noon. On the desk he found a note telling him to meet Mr. Randall Malone at 7:00pm at the bar of Restaurant Pfistermühle, near Marienplatz, a short taxi ride from his hotel. He unpacked and sat down on the king-size bed.

He had over the six hours to kill before the meeting with his Head of Ops. He could spend them visiting a red light district bar behind the main train station—which should be quiet at this time of the day. Or he could spend the six hours honing the story he had prepared for Joe about his 'development' of his potential agent.

Jack put on his coat, waved down a taxi, right in front of the hotel, and told the driver to take him straight to the red light district. Should anybody be interested, it would be easy enough to learn that _that_ was where he headed immediately upon arrival.

As he had expected, half the bars were still closed. He entered the first open one, chose a table near the bar, visible from the door and ordered a beer. By the time Jack left the bar an hour and a half later, he'd had two beers and a quick fuck in the back room with a petite and curvy, Caribbean looking woman who hadn't batted an eye when he said he wanted anal sex.

It was snowing lightly but Jack decided to walk back to the hotel. It was almost 6:00pm by the time he got to the place. He took a shower, put on black slacks and his navy blue woolen jumper and lay down across the bed and closed his eyes for a few moments.

He could do this. _If_ he considered it just another operation. And with a bit of a polygraph test thrown in. It was probably a good idea to have gotten laid—he felt a bit more relaxed now. Maybe another drink would put him further at ease.

Jack got up and went to the mini-bar. He picked a miniature bottle of whiskey, unscrewed the cap and took a mouthful of the warm, amber liquid. Then he went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth and looked at himself in the mirror.

Striking blue eyes that everybody seemed to notice first. Good, strong nose. Mouth a little soft. All in all, an easy-on-the-eye, friendly face.

_Still tense, though. Relax. And where's that goddamn Jack Twist signature smile?... Yeah, that's better. You're good to go, Twist. _

He exhaled sharply, returned to the room, picked up his wallet from the bedside table, put on the coat and walked out.

At the restaurant, Jack ordered himself a beer and sat down at the bar to wait for Joe. Randall Malone. Maybe he shouldn't have been drinking that much on an empty stomach, but it made him feel warm and good, diluting the adrenaline that had kept him high-strung since he had arrived in Munich that morning.

He had finished two thirds of the stain when the familiar voice said behind his back, "Good evening, Jack. I see you've started without me."

Jack turned around and smiled sheepishly at his mentor. "Good evening, Mr. Malone. Um, Randall. I was early, so I thought—"

"No worries, Jack. I'll join you in a minute."

Joe smirked, not unkindly, and gave Jack a quick appreciative look over. Then he turned around and waved for the maître d', a rotund, balding man in his fifties. They were quickly taken into a small dining room with vaulted ceiling and wood-paneled walls, where they sat down at the table in the far corner, with two arched, medieval style windows on either side.

"_Herr_ Malone," said the maître d' with a ceremonial smile. "May I assume that you'd like to try our chef's special again?"

It was obvious that this wasn't Joe's first time in this restaurant.

"I'll rely on your recommendation again, Friedrich," 'Herr Malone' responded with a matching smile. "I quite enjoyed my dinner last time I was here."

"Very good, _Herr_ Malone. I hope your guest will enjoy it as much as you do." He offered Jack his formal smile, too. "Today's special is three course prime boiled beef from the copper pot. For the first course, it will be the broth spooned from the copper pot, served, at your choice, with either white sausage dumplings or homemade pancake strips." He paused.

"Sausage dumplings, please."

"Of course, _Mein Herr_. As the main course, the prime boiled beef will be served with root vegetables boiled in the same copper pot. On the side, we offer grated fried potatoes, apple-horseradish and chives sauce. Finally, we will serve you fresh toasted whole meal bread with the boiled bone marrow."

"Sounds great, Friedrich. We'll follow your recommendation again tonight. And please bring us a bottle of the Gewürztraminer 1981 that you recommended last time."

"Absolutely. Gewürztraminer Auslese it is. You order is on its way, _Meine Herren_." He bowed to each of them and retreated.

They drank wine and talked about international politics and the upcoming summit while waiting for their food to arrive, then about domestic news, sports and arts through the meal. And not once during the course of the dinner did Joe mention anything related to work. It all looked and sounded more like a date rather than an informal, pre-debrief meeting with the Head of Ops and Jack didn't like it at all. Although he had to admit that the food and wine recommended by Friedrich the maître d' were excellent—Joe Cohen knew how to live grand and was kind enough to share the experience with his subordinate.

"Well, Jack, I hope you've enjoyed the food here," said Joe when they finished their coffees, smiling at Jack with his lazy out-of-the-office smile.

"Thank you, Randall. It was great. You can't find anything like this in Moscow," Jack smiled innocently, hoping that the mention of Moscow would pull his boss back to business. "The best food you can get is probably when you're invited home for lunch by _nomenclatura_ friends."

It worked: Joe's eyes lost most of their playful glimmer. He turned to a waiter hovering nearby and gestured for the bill.

"I'm sure you're going to tell me all about it… Care for a brandy at my place?" He stared at Jack intently.

_No, I don't._ "Wouldn't it be better with a fresh head tomorrow morning? I mean the debrief." Jack smiled eagerly at his boss.

"Yes, it would. But we need to briefly discuss the agenda for the next few days." Joe insisted. "I won't hold you up for too long… In case you want to go out again." The corner of his mouth twitched.

Jack's smile faded. He stared at Joe quizzically.

"Don't worry, Jack. You're not under surveillance. I called you this afternoon to see if you wanted to meet up earlier. To discuss the agenda for the next few days. I was told that you were out." Joe smirked understandingly. "I _trust_ you're being careful."

"I am, Randall. Don't worry about _me_."

The waiter came up and handed Joe the bill, which he signed without looking at it. When the waiter had left, the Head of Ops turned his attention to Jack again.

"So, a quick chat and a brandy in my room? I'm staying in the hotel in this building."

Jack hesitated for a second, then nodded. Joe wasn't exactly asking if he wanted to.

Up in his suite, Joe poured them two glasses of brandy from the bottles in the mini-bar, handed one to Jack and sat down in the second armchair on the other side of the coffee table.

"Alright, Jack. We have two choices: either we stay in Munich and do the de-briefing and the briefing _here_." He pointed a finger at the floor and clarified, "In this hotel room. Then drive to Garmisch on Monday where you'll have a read-in on a new assignment at the garrison. You'll have a weekend free with a place to stay that is paid for… Alternatively, we drive to Garmisch tomorrow morning and stay there for five days… Of course you can always return to Munich for the weekend and pay for your own stay, if you wish."

Joe was obviously playing on the fact that staff normally tried to take full advantage of their business travels and keep their personal expenses to the minimum. Two days in Munich would probably cost Jack half of his monthly salary, if not more, taking into account the 'recreational activities' Joe suspected he would be seeking here. The alternative was that Jack would have to spend 2 days in a hotel room, in a place where nobody knew them, working with Joe.

Joe was studying him expectantly, with no hint of his usual smirk.

"I'd rather go to Garmish tomorrow," Jack said finally, looking straight into his boss's eyes.

"You sure?"

"I think it's better that way, Joe," Jack said quietly but firmly, never dropping his gaze.

"Alright, Jack. In which case we're leaving tomorrow morning." Joe took a sip of his brandy. "I'll pick you up at your hotel at nine sharp."

"Okay. I'll be ready." _Is that it? Can I go now?_

But Joe wasn't ready to let him go just yet. He took another sip of the brandy, looked at Jack thoughtfully for a moment, then asked, "Are you dating anyone, Jack?"

Jack's heart skipped a bit, but he didn't break the eye contact. "Yes, I am." He tried to relax his face, not letting the challenge he felt seep through.

Joe continued watching him without a word, his face impassive.

"With a woman from the consular section." He was sure he had been noticed going out with Stella and hoped that the word was out by now.

"Good. I was worried about you a little when that English woman, Amanda, left… Is this serious? I'm assuming this one is single." There was a hint of curiosity in Joe's voice now.

"She is. We've just started dating. So I don't know yet... Maybe…"

Jack didn't like the conversation at all, but his personal life was part of his job, too, in this fricking line of business. Especially considering his personal 'circumstances' that Joe was aware of, close and personal.

"You should get married, Jack. I told you this before. I don't think we'll be able to place you on your next posting if you remain single. We won't be able to use the State Department jobs as cover for you."

The State Department rarely posted its career staff overseas unless they were settled and preferably with a kid or two. It meant that either he would have to go without a diplomatic cover, as a so-called 'illegal', or not at all. He didn't think the Agency was likely to agree to the second option though, since they had invested heavily in his training and the development of his 'civil' legend.

"I know, Joe. I'm trying. "

It wasn't entirely true, but then he was pretty sure Joe didn't want to hear that Jack wasn't keen on going through another experience similar to one he had had with Kim.

"It would be best, of course, if it's someone internal. From the department. Or at least from the Agency… But of course it's your choice. It's your life after all." He shrugged. "Let me know if you need help with this matter. Anything at all."

Jack was sure he didn't need Joe's help with this 'matter', but said, "Thanks, Joe. I'll keep that in mind."

Apparently the half-heartedness of his response didn't escape the Head of Ops. He looked at Jack pensively for a moment, then asked almost gently, "Do you have _someone_, Jack?"

Jack slammed down on the impulse to shoot a bristled response. Instead, he cocked his eyebrows and said with fake surprise, "Yes, Joe. As I said, I'm dating a—"

"You _know_ what I mean," Joe stated flatly, his eyes boring into Jack's.

Jack held his eyes, willing himself not to flinch, nor swallow, nor lick his lips, but say in the same flat tone as his mentor, "No, Joe. I don't have anyone… Who would I have in Russia, anyway?" He allowed himself to shrug.

The older man studied Jack's face for a few moments, then nodded. "Good. Please don't do anything stupid, boy. You have a promising career. Don't go and screw it up. Just pick a pussy and marry her. You could even hit the jackpot with your looks and… other charms." He smirked appreciatively. "And no need to bristle. I mean you well, Jack. You know that, don't you?" He leaned forward, reached out and patted Jack on his knee, his expression almost soft.

Jack bit on the inside of his cheek. "Yeah. 'Preciate that, Joe" he mumbled and gulped down the rest of his drink. "I think I'd better go… If there's nothing else, urgent that needs to be discussed." He needed to get out of there as soon as possible and start figuring out how to tell his boss about his… him 'compromising' Ennis, without Joe sussing out what was going on with Jack.

Joe glanced down at his watch. "No, that's all for now… You planning on going _out_ again?" he asked, as Jack put his glass down carefully on the coffee table and stood up.

"Maybe… Yeah. For a while."

"Be careful, Jack." He stood up and followed Jack to the door.

"Okay. I will. Good night, Joe." Jack nodded, not looking back.

"Jack."

Jack stopped rooted at the door and slowly turned around, his heart sinking.

Joe stood within an arm reach, trying to keep a mask of nonchalance firmly in place.

"I think it's better for you if you stay _here_. Safer… You'll get the same thing. For free. And no need to waste time on a CS run."

"I don't think it's a good—"

"And don't give me this crap about the polygraph. You're exempt from it… For now," he added emphatically, his gaze heavy on Jack's face.

Jack opened his mouth to say that as far as he was concerned, they were _so_ through, but the words stuck in his throat. He had never been a 'relationship' to Joe, had he? Just someone who gave him what the man needed. In return, Joe made sure that Jack had what _he_ thought Jack needed. It was a fair play, as far as Joe Cohen was concerned, so why should there be any resentment or hurt feelings? 'Relationships' only complicated things unnecessarily and Jack was supposed to have adopted this view from his mentor by now.

"What is it that you get _there_ that you can't get from _me_?" Joe demanded, his tone challenging. "You want me to give you head? Huh, Jack? Fine, I can do that, too." He took a step forward, put his hands flat on the door on both sides of Jack's head, trapping him, and hissed through his teeth, "If you can still give it to me hard and fast afterwards. That's all _I_ need… I know you need it, too." He ground his groin into Jack's.

"It's not _that_." Jack pushed his mentor off his body by the shoulders and stepped aside.

"Then what? What is it, Jack?"

Shit… _Fuck!_ How was he supposed to report his progress on the 'seawater' part of the operation to Joe now? The man would know immediately that he was emotionally involved. There was no way Joe Cohen would believe that he would have sex with a virtual stranger because it was his job and wouldn't do it with the only person, as far as _Joe_ knew, who took care of him. It didn't make sense. Unless there was something else going on...

"I think William suspects something… About you… and me," Jack said, uneasy.

The Head of Ops took a step back, surprised. "William? What makes you think so? What did he say?"

"Nothing specific. He just keeps making very subtle allusions. Insinuations … I meant to ask you, but didn't have a chance." Jack took one step aside, away from Joe, raked all ten fingers through his hair.

"He does, huh?" He nodded, thoughtful for a moment, then smiled reassuringly at Jack, "Don't worry about William. I'll take care of that." He took one step toward Jack and put his hand on Jack's arm.

"What do you mean? So he knows?" Jack was suddenly anxious.

"No. He doesn't know anything you need to worry about, Jack. Told you, I'll take care of William."

"How you gonna do that?"

"That's none of your concern, Jack. Just leave it to me."

"You must be joking. How is it _not_ of my concern if he _knows_ about _me_?"

"He doesn't."

"How in the hell can you be so sure?"

"Because I know… where _that_ is coming from," Joe said evasively, stepping away from Jack.

And Jack exploded. "Dammit, Joe! I want to know _what_ William knows and _how_."

Joe Cohen's brows arched up and his eyes widened a fraction. He had never known that Jack Twist had a temper, too.

"Okay, Jack, okay. Just calm down… Well, William was part of a small team that originally designed the strategy for… um, the 'seawater' type of ops. It'd been conceived few years before you joined, but only recently approved by the DCI for implementation. On experimental basis, in conjunction with this joint NSA project. As I told you, only five people know the details of _this_ part of Operation Light Water. And since you report directly to me on a part of the op, which feature a… um, 'queer factor', he may suspect there's something going on. But he doesn't know shit _about you_, Jack. You shouldn't—"

"Are you kidding me? If he suspects that I'm a fucking 'honey trap', what do you suppose he makes of it, Joe? Why didn't you warn me about him?"

"You don't _have_ to be—"

"And why the fuck didn't you tell me about… all _this_?" Jack threw his hands up in exasperation, for a moment at a loss for words. "That you've been cultivating me for _this _fucking _operation_, all the while? Maybe right from the beginning…" He hated himself for sounding bitter, but couldn't help it.

"I didn't plan on it in the beginning, Jack. I just took a bet on you and you've proven to be the best candidate for it, out of the whole pack."

It was the highest compliment in Joe Cohen's books, but Jack took it like a slap in his face.

"Proven with my dick, huh?" He stepped up to Joe and spat out in his face. "That's all you want from me, Joe? My dick? For yourself and your grand fucking intelligence schemes? Is that what you want?" He grabbed Joe by the front of his cardigan and pushed him backwards. "Is that _all_ you want from me? My fucking dick? You'll get it, right fucking now!"

Jack grabbed hold of the front of Joe's belt, undid it with a couple of forceful pulls and yanked it out. He then quickly pushed Joe's pants down and forced him down on his knees. Joe didn't fight back, let Jack shove him around. And it only made Jack madder, because he knew it was exactly what Joe wanted from him. But by now, Jack was out of control and couldn't stop himself. He undid his slacks in two seconds, pulled his cock out, half hard with all adrenaline going, and thrust it in Joe's face.

Joe had never gone down on Jack, never asked Jack to do it either, hard and fast fucking was all he ever needed. Now he looked at Jack wide-eyed, breathing hard, like he was unsure of what he was supposed to do about it.

"You wanted to give me head, didn't you? This is your chance, Joe," Jack grated out. He thrust his penis against Joe's lips.

Joe gulped, opened his mouth tentatively and leaned forward a little. He stuck his tongue out and licked the tip of Jack's cock. Jack grabbed himself at the base and pushed into the older man's mouth. He winced, sucked in a breath as Joe's teeth scrapped his shaft, and pressed his free hand down hard on Joe's shoulder.

"Goddamn it! You don't have a fucking clue how to give head, do you? What kind of a queer are you, Joe?"

Joe opened his mouth wider, letting go of Jack, and pulled back. He gazed at Jack wide-eyed, with a shadow of awe in his eyes that Jack had never seen before. Jack took two steps behind the older man's back, shoved him on his hands and hauled him up on all fours, exposing his bare ass.

"Jack, wait!" Joe straightened up onto his knees and looked over his shoulder at Jack, an expression of alarm on his face. "Condom… You need a condom. I have it here…" He reached for his trousers pocket and started fumbling in it.

"Oh, fuck it! Fuck you, Joe!" Suddenly Jack's aggression was seeping out of him quickly and with it his erection.

But Joe wasn't prepared to let him go, though, not just like that. "No, wait. I'll do it, Jack. I'll suck you… Com'ere." He grabbed Jack's hand and knee-walked up to him deftly. He then wrapped his other hand around Jack's now half flaccid penis, bent his head down and took the head in his mouth, his teeth covered this time.

Jack hissed and made a weak attempt to push Joe away, but his other head was winning the battle. So he just closed his eyes and gave in to the sweet sensation he craved, but could hardly get in the goddamn place he was sentenced to. He kept his eyes closed, trying not to flex his hips. And only when Joe's mouth was gone, then replaced by a tight feeling of a thin layer of rubber being rolled on his shaft, that he opened his eyes.

Joe was already on all fours, his pale and a little saggy ass on display and at Jack's mercy.

"Jack… Jack?" he called weakly, looking at Jack over his shoulder, his eyes begging.

Jack spit on his palm, gave himself few close-fisted pumps, stepped up and propelled himself into the other man in one hard stroke that caused them both grunt in pain and guilty pleasure. He held still for a moment, trying to reign in his breath, then closed his eyes again and started thrusting, hard and fast.

It was all over in about a minute. As he leaned with his hands on the other man's back, post coital shudders fading, Jack whispered brokenly under his breath 'I'm sorry…' and bit hard on his lip to keep a name from slipping out.


	16. Chapter 16

- 16 -

Joe was at Jack's hotel at 9:00 a.m. sharp, as he had said he would be. Knowing his mentor, Jack had already checked out and was waiting for him in the lobby with his suitcase. They mumbled their morning greetings and Jack followed the older man to his car, which was parked on the street near the hotel entrance. When Jack deposited his suitcase into the trunk, Joe waved him to the passenger seat. So, he would be driven by the Head of Ops, SE Division today. Jack reckoned not too many people could boast this kind of privilege with the Agency's chief spymaster.

They drove in silence for a few minutes, while Joe navigated through the traffic on the narrow streets of the downtown. Once they got out into the larger road, he glanced Jack's way and asked with an amiable smirk, "You sleep well?"

Joe Cohen was in his usual after-fucking mood— mellow and a tiny bit distracted, like he was still savoring the memory of the sex he had had the day before.

"Yeah… A couple of shots helped." Jack forced a little smile.

"You're not relying on alcohol too much, are you, Jack?" He turned to look at Jack again.

"No. Just a shot or two… now and then." Jack wished his 'now and then' was truly accurate.

"Good. Try to keep it that way, boy."

Jack nodded. He tried to look and sound normal, like nothing out of the ordinary had happened between them yesterday. Like Joe wasn't driving him now, for the first time ever.

…Like he hadn't noticed the look of awe in Joe's eyes when he had shouted at him and shoved the man around the previous night. Jack hadn't liked that look and wasn't proud of himself remembering it now. He wanted to hate the man for pulling him into all this shit, but deep down Jack knew he had himself to blame in equal measure. Joe hadn't exactly twisted his arm when he had invited Jack to come for interviews with the Agency's recruiters, had he? And hadn't Jack enjoyed and even been proud of his job in the beginning, even if that positive feeling about his first job had been short-lived? No, he couldn't really hang all the blame on Joe Cohen. The man had done what in his mind was 'mutually beneficial' for all concerned. He even tried to take care of Jack, in his own quirky way…

"About William. Like I said yesterday, don't worry about him." Joe threw a quick encouraging smile at him, then, seeing a skeptical expression on Jack's face, he added, "He knows _nothing_ about you, Jack. He just… resents you."

"Resents _me_? Why on earth would he resent me?" The patrician William Osbourne III? Nah, not possible.

Joe was silent for a moment, as if deliberating whether to tell Jack about it, then said cautiously, "He wanted to be _the first_ in the scheme. You get extra brownies points for running a successful pilot—a bonus, even an early promotion. Told you this before, didn't I?"

"He wanted to be a raven?" Jack looked at his Head of Ops, incredulous—William wanted to play a honey trap part? "Are you saying that William Osbourne is queer?"

"Nah, he isn't. He just wanted to do the pilot. But we didn't get a green light from the DCI. Not till this Del Mar case. And you've landed it, you lucky bastard." He smirked fondly at Jack.

"And how does William know that _I _am the one who's landed it?"

"I don't think he knows. I'd say he suspects it. He's read the Hamilton - Del Mar file. It's got a queer angle. You've been assigned to develop Del Mar junior. You report directly to me on part of Op Light Water. It all adds up, doesn't it?" He turned to look at Jack, raised his eyebrows.

Maybe it did, but Jack didn't like it all the same. "Maybe," he muttered.

"Just ignore it, Jack. He's not gonna do anything about it. He's harmless. Alright? Are we good?"

Jack bit on his lip, hesitated, then nodded, still thoughtful.

When they hit the highway, Joe asked, "Do you want to debrief on the Del Mar kid while we're driving? Save you time… for other things." He stole at quick glance at Jack and gave him tightlipped a smile.

Jack guts rolled into a tight ball and he willed himself not to respond right away, hesitating for a second or two, like he was thinking.

"Alright."

"Good. Tell me. Where are you with him?"

"I've made a move on him."

Jack watched the road in front of him as he spoke, his tone impassive, and only after he'd said it did he turn to meet Joe's eyes.

"You have? Ahead of plan, aren't we?" Joe looked surprised and just a tiny bit guarded.

Jack held his mentor's eyes and nodded.

"Oh-kay... You gonna tell me more?.. Did you fuck him?" There was a barely discernible whiff of resentment in his last question.

Jack fought the impulse to clench his jaw and throw 'it's none of your fucking businesses' at his superior.

"Christ, Joe, d'you need to know this shit?... 'kay. No, I didn't. Alright?"

"No, it's _not_ alright." Joe shook his head, his brows furrowed, but his laid-back mood stayed. "The fact that you don't need to write it up in your report and don't get to be asked about it under the polygraph doesn't mean you don't have to tell me about it... C'mon, Jack, you know the drill." He gave Jack an encouraging half smile. "When, where and how."

Jack sighed, bit the inside of his cheek. He shouldn't have agreed to be drawn into this part of the operation in the first place. Now it was too late, way too late… And considering the circumstances, he should probably consider himself lucky that Joe was at ease and a little distracted now.

"The weekend in the countryside. I'm sure you've seen the report. Everything was there. Except the… the 'move'." The Head of Ops didn't say anything, but Jack knew he was expecting more, so he continued, "He was drunk. Everybody was. I went for a walk to clear my head and ran into him. He was chilling it off under a tree by the river… So I joined him. Made a move on him… He was, um, caught off guard, but didn't resist… So, we, um, jerked each other off." He shrugged, trying to brush away the startling sense of disgust. With himself.

"That's all? What happened afterwards? The next day?"

"Nothing." Jack shrugged again, made sure he kept a steady eye contact. "He acted like nothing had happened and I didn't push him."

The lie came out smooth and easy, surprising even himself. He hadn't planned to lie, he just hadn't thought through what he was going to give Joe after the previous night. Turned out this was it and Jack didn't feel the slightest reservation about it. Ha, they'd been drilling him on how to lie most naturally, most convincingly. Well, he'd turned out to be a good student, as Joe had said it himself.

He breezed ahead with the story, "But he didn't shun me either. We met a few times since—at the library, at my place, with his gang. We went to see a movie once… It's all in my reports."

Joe nodded, his expression relaxed and easy.

"Alright, Jack… Well, I don't see how we can put this _incident_ to use, anyhow. Sounds to me like he was stoned… But it's good that you're bonding with him. Keep it that way and I'm sure you'll have another chance at getting to him. Do not hold back then. Don't let him forget it the next day, though. See if they gonna pitch you after _that_." He finally noticed Jack's clenched jaw, reached out and patted Jack's knee. "You've done good, boy. Keep it up."

For the rest of the hour and a half to Garmish, they went over in minute details Jack's story for Ennis on why Jack wanted to know about the nuclear winter theory and its origin. Then they discussed at length Gubchenko's defection and re-defection.

Joe ranted about the Agency's defector handling process. The key debriefers, who were supposed to bond with the defector and support his morale, were rotated and hadn't been there for the man when he needed them most. He bitched about the SE Division's Head of Counterintelligence, who was Gubchenko's last debriefer before the Russian had bolted. But Joe's bitterest disappointment of all was Director Casey himself: it was the DCI who had leaked out the news to some big shots of the intelligence community at a luncheon he had been hosting the day Gubchenko defected.

According to Joe, William Casey, a lawyer and once chairman of the Securities and Exchange Commission, thrived on coups. And so he had immediately figured that there could hardly be a greater success than getting his hands on one of the other side's top spymasters. He had probably figured that Gubchenko case alone could wipe off the recent embarrassing roll-ups of assets in Moscow, and maybe even the Agency's problems with Congress over Nicaragua. And so, in his race to glory, the DCI had brushed aside the Russian's only condition to his defection: that it be kept under wraps to protect his family, which he had left in Moscow.

It wasn't the last Jack heard from his mentor about this disastrous case.

The next day, when he met Joe for briefing on his existing and new operations, the Head of Ops told him that the previous day the Sov had organized another press conference for Gubchenko, now in Moscow, in which the man repeated his story about his abduction and drugging by the CIA. Less than a week before the summit in Geneva, it was a card in Gorbachev's hand and Joe feared the Secretary General was going to play it. And there was absolutely nothing they could do to prevent it.

…

After going through the updates of Ops Light Water, Joe Cohen briefed him about a new project he was assigning to Jack—in East Germany.

In short, Jack would be seconded to East Berlin, where it would be arranged for him to 'accidentally' run into a Stasi officer whom the East Berlin Station was targeting. Jack was to observe him, engage him if possible, and assess him for 'vulnerabilities' that they could use.

Joe's eyes were not easy and smiling any more when Jack asked suspiciously 'why me?' In fact, he insisted that Jack was the most suitable to run this case and that he would understand why when he read the op file. It seemed that Joe considered their little extracurricular activity firmly in the past: he was back in this chair as the Head of Ops, SE Division.

Jack muttered 'Yes, sir," and Joe's eyes softened, just a tiny bit, as he nodded his approval.

Jack spent the rest of the day reading the microfilmed file in one of the base's briefing rooms equipped for the purpose. He got the answer to "why me?" toward the end of the file: the chief of East Berlin station who'd identified the target indicated that the man was either a homosexual or had some sort of 'other unorthodox sexual interests'.

He had suspected as much—another 'seawater' type of op. Light Water wasn't the only op Joe had been planning on using him in this role. He should have known that his mentor didn't do one-shot things. In fact, he should have known it three and a half months back, when Joe had first mentioned the 'seawater' part of Op Light Water, in this same place. Of course, Joe never did anything without long term planning. But then knowing Joe, even _then_ it had already been too late. Fucking Joe Cohen!

And the worst part of all was that Jack not only couldn't quit now, he didn't know when he would be able to. Not with Ennis waiting for him to come back to Moscow and… He didn't know what Ennis expected from him, either; he just knew he had to come back.

...

They were done with the op briefings by Monday noon and Jack was instructed to go back to Munich and spend the next two days at the American consulate helping the local USIA team with the student exchange project for which he had been sent here. The East Berlin op was expected to go live sometime in February so Jack would be moved to the consulate in Frankfurt for a few weeks or maybe even straight to East Berlin on a short notice.

In the meantime, he was to continue with his Moscow assignments, but shouldn't be too aggressive in building up his friendship with the Russians. He was supposed to let them do most of the pulling. Same thing applied to Del Mar junior—Jack was not to attempt any 'aggressive' move on him till after his Berlin stint. With all the shit going on with their Soviet assets and Moscow-based case officers, Joe Cohen was too short on resources to be able to run several live ops behind the Iron Curtain at the same time.

The assignment at the consulate wasn't particularly time consuming; as a result, Jack spent half of his time reading and watching news on the summit. Together with most of the consulate staffers who didn't have either external meetings or visitors. Jack was pretty sure he wasn't the only one at the Agency who was holding his breath, waiting and praying that the Soviet leader wouldn't use his Gubchenko trump card, as some political analysts predicted.

He didn't. But the talks ended with nothing constructive, except for a joint communiqué and an agreement by both leaders to visit each other's country. That was pretty much what had been expected by most diplomats/agents/politicians/whatever, though, since the preparatory meetings between American and Soviet negotiators leading up to the summit hadn't yielded any meaningful concession on either side.

Jack didn't mention it to anyone, but deep down he preferred the Soviet proposal that the two super powers cut the number of their nuclear weapons by half. Knowing what he knew now about the nuclear winter theory, Jack thought the Soviet's proposal made more sense, even though he totally understood his government's stance about its rights to have defensive systems and ensuring that neither side had the first-strike advantage. He was secretly disappointed when the White House rebuffed Moscow's invitation to join their unilateral moratorium on nuclear tests, and also when the Reagan administration announced the first successful missile test of the new Strategic Defense Initiative. _Bah!_ Maybe he was a lousy diplomat with underdeveloped sense of patriotism, but how was _that _supposed to be interpreted by the Sovs as a constructive counter-proposition?

Following the news and discussing world politics was not the only way Jack spent his time during his three days in Munich. Every evening he had dinner with his colleagues or some random people he met the consulate. He would tell them at the end of the dinner, laughing and joking, that he was going to check out local nightlife. Then he would spend a couple of hours browsing bars and clubs downtown and, except for a quick, surreptitious fuck with a tall, blond guy at the back of a nondescript bar one night, would eventually go home with a woman. Then he would get back to his hotel in the small hours, take a shower, down a triple scotch neat and go to bed.

And all that time he tried not to think about what he'd advised Ennis to do to keep himself safe. Because Joe had just given Jack the exact same counsel on how he should live his own life for safety's sake. He wished he could tell Ennis something different, something better, but what could he say if he hadn't yet figured out how to live his own life in a different, if not better way.

...

Some relatively encouraging domestic news caught up with Jack when he returned to Moscow on Thursday night. Within two days of each other, American news papers carried front-page articles about three arrests: of Jonathan Pollard, a former U.S. Navy intelligence analyst, who had been spying for Israel, then of Larry Wu-tai Chin, a retired CIA analyst who had been spying for China, and finally of Ronald Pelton, a former employee of the NSA who had been selling the agency's secrets to the KGB. Jack had heard about the latter case from Joe, who had told him that information on Ronald Pelton had come from Gubchenko, together with the tip off on Theodore Ward, whom the FBI had lost track of back in September.

It was a strange year, with all these intel assets being busted and rolled up on both sides of the Iron Curtain. And even alongside it, it seemed. Jack just hoped that this disastrous wave would go over his head and leave him intact in this harsh and unforgiving place. He needed to stay here for another year or two in order to ensure that his future agent Ennis Del Mar Volkonsky, code name TALION, was ready for recruitment. And more importantly, that he knew how to keep himself safe.

His friend Ennis… Okay, maybe he was more than just a _friend_. Maybe even more that his _best friend_… for now….

* * *

_Soundtrack: Everything I Do, I Do It For You, by Bryan Adams_


	17. Chapter 17

_- 17 - _

_November 12, Tuesday. 11:37 p.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_I've passed the exam today, the one on Scientific Communism. Don't know if you know what it is. Don't think they teach you these things at your universities. Here, all post-graduate students have to take this exam in their first year of studies. Also philosophy. Which is not exactly philosophy, but rather the history of philosophy. I like it better. The SC is tedious. Full of rhetoric. I don't think anyone takes it too seriously, not even the lecturers. People just don't believe this crap anymore. But it's something you have to do if you want to continue your studies. Thank god I'm through with it now._

_I've been thinking about what you told me about Grandfather and his NW research. The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced you are right — he has been working on this project for the organs. Is that why he has been so defensive about Alexin's mathematical model that Anya's father has taken over? Together with the Americans. Has he been 'influencing' them so that the model would show desired results? Exaggerated results and conclusions — that's what I think. But why? Why would the organs want the results to be exaggerated? And why have Prof. Ack. and his team been going along with it? What's in it for them?_

_Can't believe Grandfather has been working for the organs all this while. How could he? It is so not like him. But taking into account how he has been able to shield all of us from 'them', it must be true. _

_Yes, that's must be why — to protect us, his family. We've been 'untouched' by them all this time, haven't we? Poor Grandpa. Knowing him, it must have been hard for him to sell his soul to the devil. _

_What does all this tell about me, then? I've been sort of aware that I'm shielded (by Grandfather) from any troubles with __the__ anyone, actually. But subconsciously I refused to recognize what it really meant. Because it's convenient. And safe. It gives you a false sense of freedom. At the expense of Grandfather's freedom. It makes me a hypocrite, isn't it? A selfish bastard. But what should I do? What __can__ I do?_

_I wish I could talk to you about this. Some day._

_And I want to know about Grandfather's original study, too. I will look for it myself. It's easier for me anyway: I can use the MGU's library and the specialized sections at Lenin Library that you may not get a pass for. _

_Grandfather said I shouldn't read it. Is he afraid that I'll challenge its conclusions? But he already knows that I have a problem with the current study — so what's new? _

_Perhaps he's afraid that I'll challenge it openly and will attract attention of the organs. Yes, that may be it. And if they pay attention to me, it may lead them to you. You definitely don't need this. Not you, cowboy. __I__ don't want it. _

_Grandfather's right — I should be very careful about this study. _

_..._

_November 14, Thursday. 10:45 p.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_They showed a strange press conference in the news just now, given by a Soviet diplomat named Gubchenko. He claimed he had been kidnapped by the CIA in Rome, taken to the USA and kept there drugged for 3 months while they tried to get sensitive information out of him. Then he managed to escape from his guards and come to the Soviet Embassy in Washington. His story sounded like a cheap spy movie to me. What is really curious is that this is the third 'spy incident' in the last 5 months: first, our organs arrested a CIA agent in the act of spying; then we expelled thirty-one English diplomats and businessmen for spying; and now this. _

_He said he is just a diplomat. What would the CIA want from 'just a diplomat'? _

_You said the organs would blackmail you if they had a chance (if they "know") because you are an Am. diplomat. _

_What would the KGB want from a cultural affairs officer? Maybe access to the information at your embassy? Possibly._

_What would you do if this happens – if they know about you? (and me). Will you tell your superiors that you are being blackmailed (and __what with__) or give away the information they want?_

_I would admit it. _

_But what if I were in your position and you were in mine? What if I knew that once I'd admitted it, I'd be thrown out of the job, sent home and would never to see you again. What would I do?_

_I have no answer to this question._

_I'm just being a fool: you are not me. You're not haunted by these kinds of questions and self-doubts. Aren't you? _

_E._

_..._

_November 17, Sunday. 3 minutes to midnight._

_Dear Jack,_

_I've been thinking about what you said—about me dating girls. _

_I know I've been untruthful with everybody about who I truly am. For a long time. But picking someone and lying purposefully to them? I don't know. I've promised you that I'll do it; I just don't know how I'm going to live with it._

_E._

_..._

_November 18, Monday. 10:30p.m._

_This is about girls again. _

_You mentioned Anya when you said I need to date girls. I want to tell you about her. I'll tell you in person some time later, when we have enough time._

_So, Anya. She has been my friend since we were kids. She and Sevka. We called ourselves "the Three Musketeers" when we were young teens. We used to tell each other everything (well, I told them everything, too, except about my imaginary friend Jack, don't know why; but in hindsight, it's good that I didn't tell them). _

_Then one day things changed: we grew up. We continued being best friends, but we stopped telling each other __everything__. _

_I know Sevka likes Anya more than he puts on. I think he loves her. But he wouldn't tell her. Because we are best friends. _

_Alright, so it's not entirely true. He stays away because __he thinks Anya and I__ Anya likes me. More than I want to admit. I've been trying to ignore this for a long time. _

_And this is not all. It's more complicated than that. _

_Anya's father, Dmitri Alexandrovich, was once in love with my mother. Mother used to go out with him when he was doing his post-graduate research at Grandfather's dept. Or so I've heard. Then one day Father appeared in the dept and Mother fell in love with him. They say it was love from the first sight. They got married soon after. She was only nineteen, younger than me now. A few months later D.A. married Anya's mother. She was Grandfather's assistant. _

_Tamara Tikhonovna doesn't like Mother. I remember when my parents divorced and Mother and I came to live with my grandparents, T.T. caught Mother in the courtyard a few times and confronted her. I didn't understand why she behaved like that. Not until much later. I didn't even quite get it when Anya told me once that her parents quarreled because of Mother. We were eleven, I think. Anya understood it even back then, but I didn't. Not until one day, when I came home and overheard D.A. telling Mother that he would always wait for her; that she only needed to tell him one little word and he would leave everything and be with her. _

_I guess he still harbors some hope. He has always encouraged Anya to be friends with me. And so she has been, against her mother's will. T.T. doesn't like me either. That's why Anya feels at home at our place; but I hardly go to hers, even though her family lives in the next building. _

_This is so convoluted. Anya thinks it's fateful that both her father and she are somehow 'tied' to our family. She confided about it to Lara once. Lara told Sevka; he told me. He tried to look glad, for me, but I knew he was sad. Perhaps even heartbroken. _

_And so, my friend, here we are, in a classic love triangle. Except that I love someone I can never tell my friends about. Like I never told them about my pen pal, the Little Cowboy._

_Hope I won't hurt my best friends. At least, not more than I may already have._

_Yours always, _

_E._

_..._

_November 21, Thursday. 11:30 p.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_The summit meetings between Gorbachev and Reagan were concluded in Geneva today. TASS reported that the two sides did not reach the agreement to reduce nuclear arms by 50% as proposed by our side. I wouldn't be surprised if there were more conditions to our proposal than simply that. But why couldn't the Am. side take this opportunity to find a solution to reduce the redundant nuclear arsenal? Even if our NW model is hugely exaggerated, neither of our sides needs the existing stockpile of nuclear arms. It doesn't make any sense to me. I'm sure it doesn't make sense to you, either. I wonder if you know why your gov. didn't go along with our proposal._

_I keep recalling the conversation about the Am. nuclear policies and history lessons at our place 2 weeks ago. I had never heard Grandfather expressing such views on this topic before. In fact, he doesn't like to talk about politics at all, as far as I know. Why did he suddenly talk about it that day? Somehow I think it was because of your presence. Because you're from the Am. embassy. I wonder if he wanted to provoke you to talk about politics, or maybe he wanted to convey some hidden message. _

_No, I don't believe Grandfather would inform on anyone. Not even on you, cowboy. Not him, I'm sure. Maybe that's why he has sacrificed his work and his scientific integrity to 'them' instead. That's what we do in our family, for the ones we love. _

_E._

_..._

_November 23, Saturday. 00: 20 a.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_I played the piece I've composed to my guys yesterday. I call it 'Atomic Twilight'. They like it. We've agreed to practice it for the rock lab in Leningrad. I'm thinking of asking Karelin to stage it for us. But before that, we're going to play it to Artyom T. Maybe in a month or so, when we're more or less fluent with it. _

_I've also written a song that I want to play at the lab, too. Don't know how it will be received, though. Don't even know if my guys will want to play this song with me. I haven't told them yet. It's a love song. Russian rockers don't usually do love songs, esp. not ones written in the first person like mine. We Russians are not good at telling the ones we love how we feel about them. How much we love them. We do 'things' for them instead, without words. The lyrics for rock music here are usually either deeply philosophical or entirely mundane, about the tedium and weariness of everyday life. Sometimes, not often, someone would write a fairytale-like, romantic ballad. _

_I wish I could play my song to you one day. It is for you. _

_E._

_8: 38 p.m._

_Izvestia published Gorbachev's interview with western journalists today, post summit meetings. Something he'd said caught my eye: "For, despite all our differences, in perception and approach, __we do have something in common__ – __our understanding__ that nuclear war is inadmissible, that it cannot be waged and that __there will be no winner in a nuclear war__." And then he said "__the world has become a safer place__" because of the summit._

_I wonder if he referred to the NW theory. I wonder if the report on our work had indeed been delivered to him before the summit. If so, did he share it with Reagan? A report based on inaccurate results. _

_I've been thinking: does it matter if the scientific results are inaccurate, if they help to achieve global results desired by millions? As a physicist, I don't have the answer._

_Another unusual thing has been happening these last 2 - 3 days: most newspapers have been providing coverage of the meeting of our leaders in Geneva __without__any negative analysis or comment about the Am__. __side__. Not even the usual name-calling, like imperialistic intentions, warmonger, threat for world peace etc. Grisha noticed it first and we have been watching this 'occurrence' since. _

_He doesn't believe that this will last long. _

_I hope that this is part of 'glasnost' policy that Gorbachev announced earlier this year. I hope this is just the beginning. _

_..._

_Just after midnight._

_Mother called earlier and I promised her to come for lunch __tomorrow__ today – she's been back from the hospital for 2 days now. She has invited Anya, Lara and Seva. Maybe I will bring Anton, too, to feed him some home-made food. In the afternoon we (Wings) will have a practice session at the MGU. I should be home before 9:00p.m._

_Will you be back today? You said you'd be away for a couple of weeks or less. It's been 2 weeks. _

_E._

_..._

_November 24, Sunday. 11:45 p.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_There was nothing wrong with me. Honest! I was just so glad to hear your voice that I didn't know what to say. _

_You said your trip was okay, but you sounded tired. Or maybe I imagined it. Hope everything is really okay. _

_I didn't know you'd be arranging for Grandfather and Dmitri Alexandrovich to go to America. Didn't realize that to finalize the report there must be the last debriefing meeting between our team, Prof. Ack.'s team, your organization and the WMO. I wish I could join. Even if I know I'm the last person you all need there. Especially when I'm not in complete agreement with it. I wish I could go anyway. _

_Perhaps one day._

_See you at Grandfather's lab on Wednesday. _

_Yours always,_

_E._

_..._

_November 27, Wednesday. 9:43 p.m._

_Jack,_

_There was something not right with you this morning. You looked worn-out, with deep shadows under your eyes. It was very subtle, but I think you avoided me. You tried to keep some distance between us. What's wrong, cowboy? _

_You know what? Let's go to the movies – Anya, Lara, you and I. Like you said we should. I'll call Lara. _

_11:25p.m._

_We're going to the movies on Sat. Lara will get the tickets. She'll call you tomorrow. _

_E._

_..._

_December 1, Sunday. Almost 1:00 a.m._

_Jack,_

_I deeply regret for ruining the evening for everybody. Only Lara didn't notice; or maybe she just ignored it, as usual. Anya felt there was something wrong, too: she tried to brighten the mood up in her awkward, serious girl way. Poor, kind Anya. _

_And you. I spoiled the evening for you, didn't I? I'm so sorry._

_The truth was I couldn't just sit there, watching Lara flirting with you, throwing herself at you. Touching you. Like you belong to her. Not that it was the first time: I blew it at Lara's birthday, too, when I saw you two dancing. Glad you hadn't noticed it that time. I was disgusted with myself afterwards. _

_I should have thought twice when I asked Lara to get movie tickets for the four of us. I was stupid to think I'd be able to control myself. How wrong one can be! I can't do it, Jack. I'd rather not know about it. Not see it at least. _

_I wish I could at least tell you how sorry and ashamed I was. That was what I thought about when I drove you home. As usual, I couldn't make myself open my damned mouth. _

_But I think you knew. Even if both of us acted like nothing had happened, didn't even talk much at all: just sat there silently, smoking, listening to the radio._

_I don't know how this is possible: a simple act like sharing a cigarette fills me with such intense connection with you that I feel like I can close my eyes and never open them again. I feel complete. How can this be? _

_How can one live __after__ this, knowing that you will never feel this whole ever again, afterwards?_

_E._

_..._

_December 8, Sunday. 11:12 p.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_Thanks for letting me know you'd be tied up this weekend. I'd have probably spent most of the day home yesterday, waiting to hear from you. (God, I sound like a love-sick girl! And strangest thing: I'm not ashamed. I know you won't laugh at me, should you know. Won't judge me. How do I know? No idea. I just do.) _

_I went to visit Mother and Grandfather and stayed overnight. Haven't slept over there for ages. It felt strange sleeping in the bed that I used to sleep when I was little, then a teenager, dreaming about what we (Jack the Little Cowboy and I) would do in the forest not far from Eureka—hunting, fishing, swimming in the lakes. Father said there are a lot of lakes in that region. I remember one—Fallen Leaf Lake. Don't even know where it is located exactly. And it felt surreal to be thinking of the little Jack from Calif. when you, Jack, are out there somewhere, in Moscow. _

_There's another thing: while I was reading Mother's newspapers last night, I came across a short article in Sovetskaya Kultura about AIDS in the S.U. It said that there are only 'less than 10' cases of AIDS in the entire S.U. It also said that this disease affects mostly homosexuals and drug addicts. That's not exactly what the articles in TIME magazine you gave me to read said. Also, if this disease spreads at the speed they say it does in a country where people are aware of it, how can it be contained to only 10 people in a country where most people don't even know what AIDS is? And I thought 'glasnost' was finally arriving. I was too optimistic. _

_You may not believe it, but this is actually the first time that I've read a mention of Sov. homosexuals in a Sov. newspaper. Maybe I should subscribe to this newspaper. _

_E._

_..._

_December 15, Sunday. 1:30 a.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_I'm tired, but don't want to fall asleep. Don't want to stop running through my head the vivid images of you, of us, right here in my bed, around an hour ago. The smell of you still lingers on my pillow, even if you've taken all your warmth away with you. But I know when I close my eye, I'll see your face again—above me, within reach, looking down at me. Your lips, swollen by my kisses, smiling. A drop of moisture rolling down your cheek. Brows like two powerful wings, spread wide above the dizzyingly blue eyes. I can swear I saw happiness in your eyes. For a brief moment the troubled look that has taken root in them recently went away and suddenly I was giddy. Just by looking into those eyes and seeing that strange soft light shining down on me. _

_Afterwards, I asked "does it always feel like this". The question startled you. Perhaps you thought I was asking if sex with 'others' makes you feel like __with me.__ I made you feel. Of course I'd never ask such a question. It's weak. It reeks of jealousy. But I admit, I want to know. Even if I'd keep telling myself that I don't care. I do care: I wish I was the only one who could make you feel like that. _

_You gave me a long-winded, 'theoretical' answer. In short, you said 'it depends'. Of course it does, I know that. For me, it depends on whether it's you or not. Never mind. I think you knew what I meant. And you'll never know how happy I was that I could make you feel that way. Even for a fleeting moment._

_Yours for always,_

_E._

_9:12 a.m._

_About the sex. I still can't find right word for it, for mind-blowing now seems getting old. Somehow, it's losing to the feeling of completeness that possesses me when I hold you in my arms. I can live, or die, for it alone, if there's nothing else._

_I love you._

_E._

_..._

_December 18, Wednesday. 9:48p.m._

_-25C tonight. Weather forecast says it will stay this cold till the end of the week. A perfect weather to curl up in bed with someone. You._

_This is for you._

_I want to ask the stars_

_how to shine_

_for you alone_

_through the glare _

_of the city lights._

_I want to ask the trees_

_how to green_

_into your dreams_

_about a different land _

_where I have never been._

_I want to ask the desert_

_and every grain of sand _

_how to erase_

_and how to mend_

_the hate, _

_intolerance _

_and pain,_

_to help us stumble not_

_on each step_

_over our prejudiced_

_differences._

_I want to ask the truth_

_how to make _

_my stupid self believe_

_that_

_even the smallest ray of hope_

_might be not_

_between us..._

_I want to ask _

_you: _

_Why?_

_But then I look away_

_every time_

_wordlessly_

_you gaze at me,_

_willing me_

_to hold back the answer... _

_E._

_..._

_December 20, Friday. 11:55 p.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_This is about me and girls again._

_I know I've been hiding behind Grandfather's back for a long time, pretending that I could do everything my way because I'm special. (Different, yes; but special? It's such a joke!) So hiding behind someone's back isn't something entirely new for me, is it? Why should I feel offended by the idea?_

_So, I'll do what you said I should. I'll pick a girl and hide my true self behind her back. Because it's convenient. Because it's safe. Because it gives you a false sense of freedom to do what you want most – to be with the one you truly want. The only one._

_I'll do it, Jack. I'll be a bastard and do it. For you, moy vasil'yok, my blue cornflower. To keep you safe while you are here. With me. I'll think of what to do 'after you' later, when you're gone from this place. From my world, but not from my heart. _

_Never from my heart._

_E._

* * *

_Soundtrack: Everything I Do (I Do It For You), by Bryan Adams  
_


	18. Chapter 18

- 18 -

Back in Moscow, Jack discovered that the Geneva summit was a preoccupation of not just the entire Embassy staff but of the whole of the Moscow populace – and seemingly of the rest of the vast country.

The news of the Reagan-Gorbachev meetings had been on the front pages of the international and local press for several days running. All the major Soviet newspapers printed the full text of the Soviet – U.S. agreement, and even some of the transcript of Gorbachev's one-hour-forty-minute long interview with journalists before he had left Geneva. For once the news was printed free of commentary. That was quite unusual for the coverage of such a politically important event, which usually required Party-line interpretation and guidance for the subsequent public discussions. Not only that, during those few days the Soviet news media dropped its standard anti-American invectives and even ran lengthy quotes from Reagan's report on the summit to the Congress. All this without a single negative comment.

On Friday, the day Gorbachev returned to Moscow, the country's leading newspaper _Izvestia _took another unprecedented step: the front page of its evening edition carried interviews with common people whom correspondents had stopped on Red Square to ask their views on the Geneva summit. Most of them were positive. Most pointed out the joint declaration that "a nuclear war cannot be won and must never be fought". It was obviously a novelty to Soviets to hear that America did not want war—the same America that was always depicted there as warmongering and dictatorial.

It was all rather extraordinary and prompted a round of speculations and interpretations by western political analysts about the emerging trends in the Soviet policies. The most frequent comment was that it all looked like Gorbachev's _glasnost_ was finally becoming real.

For a few days after his return, Jack tried to stick to Joe Cohen's recommendation 'not to be aggressive' with his Russian friends and 'let them do the pulling'. But on Sunday he gave in and called Ennis. They chatted on the phone for fifteen minutes and Ennis told Jack that _he_ was going to do the 'review' of his grandfather's work because it was easy for him. Jack conceded and said maybe they should go to the Lenin Library together.

Jack saw Ennis again when he went to the MGU to debrief with the Soviet nuclear winter team and also to discuss Prof. Volkonsky's and Dr. Arceniev's trip to America. He was uneasy, but forced himself to sound natural as he talked about the travel itinerary, which included a two-day visit to Berkeley. He felt Ennis's eyes on him, burning holes in the side of his face, but when Jack turned his head to look at him, Ennis immediately dropped his gaze. His face was the usual impassive mask, only his long, nervous fingers seemed to live a life of their own.

The following day Lara called and announced to Jack that he was going to the movies with her, along with Anya and Ennis, to see a rerun of 'Kramer vs. Kramer'.

"This Saturday, at the House of Actors," she said, referring to the exclusive little cinema in the extravaganza of a building downtown that housed the Soviet actors' association.

Of course he said yes—they were doing the 'pulling' as Joe wanted, weren't they?

The 'double date' turned out to be rather awkward. Jack and Lara ended up making most of the small talk, with Anya responding with exaggerated enthusiasm to compensate for Ennis's sullen silence. He was edgy and distracted and hardly looked in Jack's direction all evening and Jack had little doubt why: Lara clung to him like they were born joined at the hip, first touching his arm every so often, and then holding his hand through the rest of the movie. By the end of the evening Jack almost regretted that he had agreed to this stupid outing.

But after they'd taken the girls home, somehow everything slowly eased back into place as Ennis drove him to his apartment, They spoke little as they rode through deserted Moscow streets, letting their fingers brush and linger as they shared a cigarette, listening to Vysotsky's coarse yet balmy voice singing about taking someone away from the enchanted forest in which they lived to make their Eden together in a shed1.

And after Ennis had stopped a block away from Jack's building and Jack reached for his hand to say goodbye, Ennis held on it and awkwardly pressed their clasped hands against his stomach. He gave Jack a weak smile, a pained expression in his eyes.

Jack cupped his other hand to the nape of Ennis' neck and shook him lightly. "It'll be alright, bud," he said with a smile, trying to exude the confidence he didn't feel.

...

December started on a disconcerted note for most at the Embassy: the process of moving all Soviet employees from the central wing to the outer buildings on the Embassy grounds had begun. The move had been announced while Jack was on his mission in Germany, so when he returned, all he heard about it was office chatter.

When Nurimbekoff returned from the headquarters the first week of December, he also confirmed the rumor, which had been circulating since outbreak of the spy dust scandal in August, that the State Department was planning to replace the Embassy's two hundred or so Soviet employees with Americans, starting sometime in the coming year. Indeed, the process of recruitment of the first batch of fifty had already started.

The State Department did not issue its official announcement until December 12th. By that time, a sense of anxiety and disgruntlement had already descended on the Embassy's local staff, most of whom had been working there for many years, some for over a decade. As a result, the Soviet employees spent a great deal of their time whispering and speculating quietly in corners. Some tried to secure their future with the Embassy by lobbying the American staff members with whom they felt most comfortable discussing their plight. Jack seemed to fall into this category for many of them, because he found himself spending all his free time, and sometimes even working hours, chatting with the local folks. He felt for them, but knew that there was nothing really he could do for them except give them his time, his sympathy and occasionally a useful tip.

On the second Friday of December, having exhausted his reserve of excuses, Jack gave in to Stella's insistent invitations out for a 'date _and all_'. They started with drinks after work at the bar of Hotel_ Intourist_, where they ran into at least one representative of every major western embassy and foreign news agency in Moscow. Mike Demidoff was amongst them, looking tired and slightly disheveled. Jack came up to him for a handshake and a bit of small talk. He was very tempted to ask Mike what happened between him and Amanda, but in the end concluded that it was neither the time nor place. Especially not with Stella present.

He ended up having dinner with her at the bar. Then, just before midnight, they took a taxi to her place on _Leninsky Prospekt_, the broad avenue running past Gorky Park down to the southern part of the city. She would have raped him right in the cab, had Jack been drunker than he was. As it was, he managed to fend her attacks off till they were in her apartment and the door slammed shut. When he left Stella's apartment early in the morning, Jack silently thanked god that it was winter and his shirt with most its buttons ripped off was well hidden under his heavy overcoat.

He took the Metro back home and called Ennis from the street for a chat and to let him know that he would be tied up that weekend. Which wasn't exactly true. He just couldn't face Ennis after the night with Stella. Of course he had explained to Ennis that they must date women, if they were to continue to see each other sometimes. Still, he didn't want him to know it for a fact. At least, not immediately _after _the fact. He was sure that Ennis would be able to actually smell on his skin that Jack had just had sex with someone else.

He managed not to talk to Ennis for the whole week, but then on Saturday he gave up fighting with himself. Early in the morning he called him to make sure Ennis would be home in the evening.

Later, when Ennis drove him to a Metro station downtown after midnight, Jack was subdued and pensive all the way. In his apartment, he brushed his teeth, gulped a triple shot of whiskey and went straight to bed, reveling in Ennis's scent that was clinging to his skin.

Right after his first visit to Ennis's place, Jack had stopped kidding himself about the guy. About the reason he wanted to see him most of the time, why he thought about Ennis most of the time. And Jack had finally admitted to himself that it had nothing to do with his assignment—he had become emotionally involved with his target. _Temporarily_, he had stubbornly insisted to himself.

But now, after Joe and Stella and half a dozen of other fucks in the last few weeks, it was dawning on Jack that he might not get with anyone else that 'thing' that he'd felt tonight with Ennis—and every time they were together. And it wasn't the sex that made him realize that, even though it had been no less mind-blowing and overwhelming than the first time. No, it was Ennis holding him afterwards—their bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces, his back to Ennis's chest, Ennis's lips occasionally pressing into the back of Jack's head, Ennis's fingers softly drawing little circles in the middle of Jack's chest. Everything felt so goddamn right that he thought he could just close his eyes and die, right there, right then in Ennis's arms. How would he ever be able to find _that_ with anyone else, wherever else he ended up after… after Moscow? How was he supposed to_ live_ with the knowledge that someone could make him feel that way, but that he would never be with that 'someone'? Ever! How the fuck… How?

It took Jack three days to stop feeling like he had lost direction and to regain his balance.

...

Ennis called him one evening a few days later to say that he and his family would like to invite Jack to his grandfather's place – 'to meet the New Year in the Russian tradition'. Well, if Jack didn't have any other plans of course. His grandfather and mother would be in and out, and Lara, Anya, Seva and some other friends of Ennis's would drop by between 7:00 p.m. and midnight.

Jack didn't have any particular plan for New Year's Eve. Most of the Embassy's American staff—including both his bosses, Stella, and others with whom Jack hung out—had either left or would be leaving shortly to spend the Christmas holidays with their families in the U.S. Jack was amongst the few who were staying behind. He didn't have a home or a family to go back to anyway.

He was touched, knowing that for Russians, New Year celebrations at home were for family and close friends only. He had little doubt that the invitation came primarily from Ennis, but the fact that his family had agreed to have him at their place on this night meant that they had accepted him as a family friend. Still, he wanted to be absolutely sure that he was not imposing, or rather, being imposed upon the family by Ennis. So he kept asking him if he was sure it was alright for Jack to come, until finally Ennis said impatiently that he would ask his mother to call him, if Jack had any doubt. Jack laughed sheepishly and said there was no need and that he was extremely honored.

They talked on the phone two more times before New Year's Eve, but didn't see each other.

When he arrived at the Volkonsky family's apartment door at eight o'clock on December 31st, Jack was feeling anxious, but not sure which of the two thoughts bothered him more: that he might be pitched by any one of the people there tonight; or —an idea that had just occurred to him, as he stood there with a bag of presents and a bouquet of white chrysanthemums in his hands—that this could look like a date being introduced to the parents.

_Oh, ferchristsake, Twist, this is downright ridiculous! Ennis Del Mar Volkonsky is _not_ a fuckin' girl! _And_ had they known that you were screwing their golden boy, they probably would have murdered you on the spot with their bare hands!_

The door swung open and Jack's nervousness evaporated in a flash.

"Jack, hello! Come in, please," Ennis said in English, smiling wide and eager, and stepped aside to let Jack in.

He was wearing a cobalt blue, v-neck cashmere jumper and black dress trousers. His combed back hair looked damp, like he was just out of the shower. Jack noted that he had never seen Ennis wearing a turtleneck—a garment favored by Russian men. He was_…_ _different_, this boy.

Jack walked past him into the entry hall, put the bag down on the floor and turned to his friend. "Ennis, thanks so much again for inviting me," he said and extended his hand.

Ennis grasped it and shook his head. "I told you, we're glad to host you for the New Year's Eve."

He smiled again, seeming flustered, and didn't break the handshake, just stood smiling, gazing into Jack's eyes. Then he yanked at Jack's hand and pulled him into hug.

Jack had barely managed to move the flowers out of the way before he found himself wrapped tightly in Ennis's arms, cheek to cheek, the young man's long, lean body pressed against his own..

He tensed up immediately. "Ennis, what're you doin'?" he hissed, trying to carefully extract himself from the embrace.

Ennis chuckled softly and pulled back a little to look into Jack's eyes. Buthe didn't let go. "Nobody's home." His eyes were fixed on Jack's mouth.

"Oh…. Let me put down the flowers at least," Jack let out a nervous laugh, and set the bouquet on a table next to the door.

As soon as the flowers were out of his hands, he found himself in Ennis's arms again, his mouth on Jack's.

"Christ, Ennis… you'll be… the death of me…" Jack mumbled, laughing quietly through the soft, open-mouth kisses.

"I'll die with you… Don't worry." Ennis pulled back for a moment, his face deadpan, his eyes sparkling with tease, then went right back to Jack's mouth, pushing his tongue between Jack's lips.

After a minute or two, Jack gently pushed on his shoulders.

"Ennis, we shouldn't, bud…. Not now." He smiled apologetically and traced the tip of his finger across Ennis's moist and already slightly raw lips. "You don't wanna look like you've just been kissing. Not without at least Varvara Petrovna home… Right?"

Jack winked at him, grinning wickedly, then let out a giggle when he saw Ennis's expression of shock.

"That's disgusting!" He gave Jack a light shove in the middle of his chest.

"Well, guess what your folks would think if they come home now and see that there's no one here but me. And you with this 'I've-just-been-kissed' look on your face."

Ennis's expression sobered. He dropped his eyes and said quietly, "I'm sorry. I didn't think about that."

Jack's heart squeezed. He pulled Ennis into his arms, planted a gentle kiss on his temple and whispered, "It's okay, bud. Just be a tiny bit more careful. At all times. Alright?"

He let go of him, picked up his presents and headed for the sitting room. He stopped in the doorway, turned to look at Ennis and offered him the bag and the flowers. "For you… and everybody."

"Thank you so much, Jack. You really shouldn't have… Mother will love the flowers, I'm sure."

He walked past Jack into the sitting room and set the presents and the flowers on the old, carved side table in the corner near a live fir tree. Voluminous and almost as high as the ceiling, it was generously decorated with multicolored glass balls, paper chains and lights. The dining table was laid out in the middle of the room again, but it was smaller this time, with only eight place settings. The light in the room was dimmed to let the New Year fir tree lights shine.

"So, where's everybody?" Jack stood in the doorway, looking around, as Ennis took a crystal vase out of the cupboard and headed to the kitchen.

"Mother is upstairs at her friend Valiya's," Ennis called out from the kitchen over the sound of water running. "Said she'll be back in an hour." He reappeared from the kitchen carrying the vase and put the flowers into it. "Grandfather is at the banquet in the Palace of Congresses. He should be home by ten o'clock. Varvara Patrovna left home an hour ago… Sit down, please…." He looked at Jack uncertainly, as if unsure what he was supposed to do next. "Would you like something to drink?"

Jack sat down on the sofa and grinned at him. "Nah, it's okay, Ennis. Thanks. I'll wait for everybody… They're coming too, right? I mean your friends."

"Yes. Anya and Anton will come over soon." Ennis sat down on a chair by the table, facing Jack. "They are at Anya's place. She lives in the next entrance way. Seva will come over later, around ten maybe. And Lara—she called you, didn't she?"

"She did, yesterday. Said she would be back from the banquet before eleven. Is it the same banquet your grandfather's at? In the Kremlin?"

"Yes, it is. Her father takes her along for receptions all the time," Ennis explained, as though seeking Jack's understanding.

"Good! That's how I met her—at the July 4th reception her father brought her to… I'm enormously grateful to Deputy Minister Novikov for that. And to Lara, for inviting me to a certain student concert at the MGU," Jack added, smiling softly at him.

Ennis didn't say anything, just gazed at Jack thoughtfully for a few moments, then blurted out, "I like it more when you're unshaven."

"Is that so?" Jack was lost for a second, but absurdly pleased at the same time.

"Yeah. I, um, love to feel the uh…" Ennis quickly brushed the back of his fingers against his own cheek.

"Stubble?"

"Yeah, I like to feel _it_ on my skin."

Jack couldn't actually see it in the diffused light, but was pretty sure that the deep shade on Ennis's face was not all from the flickering, multicolor lights adorning the fir tree. He sighed and shook his head slowly.

"I'm flattered, Ennis. Really. But let's talk about something else, bud, if you don't want us to parade around with raging boners when everybody gets here... Okay?"

Ennis nodded glumly.

"So tell me," Jack continued, "in layman's language, what's your post grad research about?"

Ennis was still trying to explain to Jack the difference between nuclear fission and nuclear fusion when Anya and Anton rang at the door. Ten minutes later Ennis's mother, Vera Mikhailovna, returned from her friend's apartment. After the exchange of greetings and heartfelt thank-yous—Jack for the invitation and Ennis's mother for the flowers and presents—the women headed to the kitchen and started laying out the New Year's Eve fare on the table. Anton immediately turned on the TV and took a strategic position at the table right across the TV set. A show called _Goluboy Ogonyok_, the Little Blue Light, featuring the most popular singers, actors and comedians, was about to start on Channel One. It was the traditional New Year's Eve music and talk show that the entire country watched and Anton didn't want to miss a second of it.

They started leisurely with the dinner while watching the show, exchanging comments and asking Jack about American shows and actors. He told them about his recent favorite, 'Late Night with David Letterman', even mimicking some of Letterman's guests, which brought Anton almost to tears, he was laughing so hard. Even Vera Mikhailovna and Anya were chuckling softly, both looking at Jack with expressions of quiet, friendly admiration. Almost the same expression with which, he had noticed, they looked at Ennis.

When Seva and Grisha showed up at around nine thirty, a chilled bottle of _Stolichnaya_ appeared on the table and the drinking went up a notch—among the boys at least. Ennis's mother and Anya sipped at their sweet, fortified wine, smiling at them, looking contented. After the third toast, to Soviet-American friendship, Ennis asked Jack if he was driving. When Jack said not that day, he nodded and said he would drive him home later and stopped drinking.

Prof. Volkonsky came home from the banquet shortly after ten o'clock. After a hearty handshake he told Jack that Lara sent her apologies for not showing up at the time she'd promised she would—her father had insisted on her staying with him till the end of the function—but she hoped Jack would wait for her. Volkonsky looked at Jack with poorly hidden sympathy as he passed on the message. As did others, Jack noticed. All except Ennis, who stared at his plate, his face dull but his eyes blazing.

Around eleven, Dr. Arseniev with his wife dropped by to offer a toast to Prof. Volkonsky's family and to Jack for the coming New Year. Anya's father was already loose-tongued and a little too flirty and it rather obviously displeased her mother. Jack noticed a hint of unfriendliness in Mrs. Arsenieva's expression as she furtively watched her husband out of the corner of her eye as he was talking to Ennis's mother. It looked like the couple's visit made half people in the room uncomfortable and Jack wondered why.

There was a moment of awkwardness after Arseniev's elaborate toast, then a round of hugs, kisses, handshakes and backslapping.

Vera asked in a perfunctory tone if the couple wanted to join everybody at the table for a spell.

Mrs. Arsenieva gave a tight smile. "Thanks, but—"

"But of course we will!" countered her husband, and sat right down on the spare chair next to Jack. Seva, who happened to be sitting on his other side, jumped up quickly and offered his chair to Mrs. Arsenieva. Vera stood up and asked Ennis to help her bring new plates and more food—instead of Anya, who had been doing this all evening.

The conversation around the table didn't flow as effortlessly as before and in a few minutes Grisha waved Seva out for a smoke. Jack stood up too, excused himself and went looking for the restroom. Whatever the problem was between these people, he didn't really want to witness what was going to happen next. But mostly, he didn't care to see the pained and apologetic look on Ennis's face whenever he caught Jack's eye. He hoped Anya's parents would leave soon so that the atmosphere could revert to what it had been before they'd come.

Jack lingered as long as he could. When he sensed it was about to seem strange to be missing for so long, he pulled the flush, walked out and stepped into the bathroom next to the toilet.

He had just started soaping his hands when the door opened quickly. Ennis slipped in and locked the door quietly behind him.

Jack didn't turn around. He met Ennis's eyes in the mirror over the sink, the earlier anxiousness unfurling in his stomach again. "Ennis, we shouldn't—" he whispered.

"Shhh… It's alright." He wrapped his arms around Jack, aligning his body with Jack's, head to toe, and pressed his lips into the nape of Jack's neck.

Jack sighed, closed his eyes and leaned back. They stood like that for a minute, Ennis rocking him ever so slightly. Then he placed another gentle kiss at the back of Jack's head.

"I love you."

It was faint as a breath but Jack heard it all the same. He froze, his eyes flying open, his heart about to burst out of his chest, his mind screaming _No, no, no, that's not right! Don't do this Ennis! You can't do this, friend! You can't do this to me!_

Their eyes met in the mirror. At the sight of the distress in Jack's, Ennis's face shut down at let go of Jack, opened the door, stepped out and closed quietly it behind him without a single word.

When Jack had regained his composure, pasted back on his usual affable expression and emerged to rejoin the party, Grisha and Seva were back at the table. The Arseniev elders were still there. Ennis wasn't.

Jack didn't sit down; instead, he reached for the new bottle of vodka on the table, refilled everybody's crystal shot glasses and, smiling with exaggerated cheerfulness, proposed a toast 'to the fair ladies behind all men of significance.'

The rest of the men stood up to join him and all gulped down their brimming glasses. Five minutes later, Jack asked if he could make another toast and proposed one to 'the eternal beauty of Russian women'. He didn't have to make another one—the Russians took over, as if on a cue, and in less than an hour the entire vodka bottle was consumed.

Ennis returned to the table after the fourth toast and was immediately made to take a penalty shot. He took one, but refused to drink any more, explaining he had to drive later.

Jack laughed and said, 'Don't worry, my friend, I'll take a taxi. You can't not drink on a New Year, can you?'

Ennis didn't say anything, just threw him a quick, enigmatic look. He didn't join the others when another bottle of vodka was opened, however.

Lara called half an hour before midnight. Ennis's mother, who answered the phone, called Jack out into the corridor and passed the receiver to him, her half-smile sympathetic.

As he took the phone, Lara launched into a long, breathless apology, explaining that her father hadn't let her go, so now she was not able to get home by the countdown and she was so sorry that she made Jack wait for her and she promised to make it up to him later. She was obviously high.

Jack accepted her apologies with a loud sigh, declared he missed her, right then, and wished her the most beautiful things in the coming New Year.

After he hung up the phone, Jack locked himself in the toilet, sat down on the seat and pressed his fingers against his temples. He closed his eyes and wished fervently that he could get drunk enough not to remember… _anything_. But he couldn't get drunk, not here, not now.

He sat there until Vera knocked on the door and asked if he was alright. She peered into Jack's eyes as he stepped out, patted his arm and said, "Everything will be alright. She's a good girl. Just a little too lighthearted sometimes." Her eyes were kind, her tone sympathetic.

Back in the living room, everybody tried, discreetly they thought, to cheer Jack up by toasting him, offering him food, telling blonde jokes. He laughed dutifully, accepted all the toasts and food and tried to appear his usual cheerful self when his gaze happened to drift in Ennis's direction.

Ennis's face was inscrutable again, his smile tight-lipped and obviously forced. But apparently everyone there was used to his moods and paid him little heed. Except Anya: she tried surreptitiously to cheer her friend up by leaning his way sometimes and speaking to him something under her breath. Eventually it made him smile a fraction wider and drape his arm across the back of her chair.

Jack brushed aside the irrational desire to strangle Anya, stood up and proposed another toast—to friendship between all the people in the world and a world without nuclear wars. Then the New Year finally arrived, greeted with yet another toast and everybody wishing one another a happy new year and Jack wishing the moment would come when he could excuse himself and leave. He desperately needed to be alone. To try to forget this evening, regain his composure and move on.

His moment came when Anya's mother stood up some ten minutes into the New Year and prepared to leave. Jack took the opportunity to announce that he should go home as well. He didn't manage to make Ennis stay home though, and fifteen minutes later they were in his car, heading toward Jack's part of town.

The night was bight, the snowflakes floating in an endless roundelay in the crisp air. They were silent for a long time, pretending to be listening to a wordless tune on the radio. Jack felt he was going to explode any minute, with all the things boiling in his head. In his chest. He bit hard on his lower lip, fighting to keep his turmoil to himself.

Finally, he caved in. "I thought we talked about it, Ennis! Why would you go and say..." The words got stuck in his throat.

But Ennis continued his thought as though reading Jack's mind. "That I love you? Because I do." He looked straight ahead, his voice low, unyielding.

"But Ennis—"

"And Jack? You don't have to say or do anything about it. It's just one of those things. It happens."

"Ennis, I—"

"Don't! It's fine, Jack." He finally turned his head to look at Jack and smiled a little. "It's just me. Don't worry about it... Okay?"

He quickly brushed the back of his fingers along Jack's jaw line, still smiling, but Jack could see a world of loneliness in his eyes, even in the dark. Then Ennis turned back to the road, reached to turn up the volume of the radio.

The vaguely familiar, haunting instrumental filled the confined space of the car, making Jack cringe. Who played such fucking sad music on a New Year? Weren't people supposed to celebrate, to be happy, to laugh, to tell each other that they—

_Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

_..._

Ennis dropped Jack off three blocks from his house, said 'See you later', his tone steady, not even a hint of reproach or bitterness in it. Or anything at all for that matter. Just a normal, everyday tone.

"Yeah, see you later." Jack smiled at him, knowing that his smile would look fake to himself if he could see it.

The car took off the second Jack shut the door, the wheels flinging up fresh snow in Jack's face. There were a few people walking on the street—some drunk, some just having lots of fun.

Within a hundred yards, the booze caught up with him. Jack dashed to the nearest tree and threw up the contents of his stomach onto the pristine white of the new snow. He retched, trying as well to get rid of the heavy lump lodged just below his solar plexus. Nothing came out but bile and stinging moisture that burned his eyes like acid.

Joe had said that boys like them don't cry and Jack didn't. Wouldn't! Agent Jack Twist code name TALI… Fuck, no, TRISTAN! That's right, _case officer_ TRISTAN… He could do that, no problem, sir. It was just all the bloody vodka he had consumed that was making him drunk.

He laughed and threw a happy-new-year back at a high-as-kites group of young people passing by, turning down the girls' invitation to join them, and staggered back to his apartment block. He wished a happy new year to the _milizia_ guard, who obviously had had some too and was amiable, then rode the smelly elevator up to his floor, leaning back against its flimsy wall, with his eyes closed.

In his apartment, Jack shrugged off his heavy overcoat and fur hat, kicked off the boots. He left everything lying on the floor and went straight to the cupboard in the sitting room. He took out a new bottle of JB, broke the seal and downed almost a third of it in several big gulps. The fiery liquid kicked the tears out of Jack's eyes but that was fine, as long as it helped him to get rid of the brick in his chest. He set the open bottle down on the coffee table and staggered into the bedroom.

He didn't bother to take off his clothes, flopped across the bed, closed his eyes and started counting, waiting for the booze to knock him out cold. He didn't have to wait very long. Then, as he was spiraling down into the cotton-thick, pitch black, bottomless hole, his last thought was _fuck Joe… and fuck the boys who don't cry…_

* * *

A/N:

1 Vladimir Vysotsky (1938 - 1980) was a Soviet singer, songwriter, poet, and actor whose career had an immense and enduring effect on Russian culture. He became widely known for his unique singing style and for his lyrics that featured social and political commentary in often humorous street jargon. Though his work was largely ignored by the official Soviet cultural establishment, he achieved remarkable fame during his lifetime, and to this day exerts significant influence on many of Russia's popular musicians and actors who wish to emulate his iconic status (from Wikipedia). The song in question can be found here (with English translation): youtube watch?v=rv7hZ4ewRlw

2. The tune that played on the radio as Ennis took Jack home is the soundtrack from the romantic comedy 'The Irony of Fate or Enjoy Your Bath' that had been running on Soviet and then Russian TV _every_ year on the New Year Eve ever since it was first released in 1976. Simultaneously a screwball comedy and a love story tinged with sadness, it is one the most successful Soviet television productions ever and remains highly popular in modern Russia. Here's the tune: youtube watch?v=XN7xPtVG3RM


	19. Chapter 19

_- 19 - _

_January 1, Wednesday. 11:15 p.m._

_I've screwed up, haven't I? Ruined our friendship. Driven you away. I'm a total and complete idiot: I knew you didn't want to hear it. Yet I went ahead and said it out loud. Couldn't keep my damn mouth shut. _

_Will you ever forgive me, Jack? _

_But then, even if you won't, it doesn't change anything: I love you. So very much. Maybe even for the rest of my life. _

_Happy New Year, cowboy!_

_..._

_January 2, Thursday. 10 minutes to midnight. _

_Dear Jack,_

_They've just transmitted your President Reagan's speech addressing the Soviet people on TV. He started saying 'Good evening. This is Ronald Reagan, President of the United States of America.' So casual. He ended by wishing everybody 'chistoye nebo' in Russian. 'Clear skies' – it's not a very typical New Year wish. Don't think it's an American thing, either. What did he really mean, then? I wonder if he knows about the NW effects after a nuclear war—a smoke covered sky, for months. He also said he hoped the talks about nuclear arms reduction between our countries will be speedier in 1986. So maybe he knows?_

_Then they showed our Gorbachev's speech to Americans. It was transmitted simultaneously with Reagan's speech to us. He expressed hope for reduction of mistrust between __us__ our countries. _

_I trust you, Jack. I hope you trust me, too._

_Your friend, E._

_..._

_January 8, Wednesday. 10:00 p.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_I've gone through the relevant sections of catalogues at the MGU's and Lenin libraries. I have not been able to find Grandfather's original study. Only references to it in some later works on NW, including Grandfather's subsequent research. At both libraries they said all copies were on loans to either other institutes or individuals. This is not too uncommon, esp. for not widely circulated research work. _

_Then they asked if I wanted to leave my name in the queue so that when my turn comes up they'll call me. Normally I do that when I need something for research. But I recalled your reservations, suspicion even, about everything and everyone. It must be very hard to live in the environment where you cannot trust anyone. So I didn't leave my name. Don't want you to worry about it when I tell you about the results of my search._

_I mean if you still want to talk to me. _

_I'll take back what I said, Jack, If you don't want any of it. I'll keep it all to myself. I've done it before, I can do it again. No big deal. Your friendship is all I want. _

_Your friend always,_

_E._

_..._

_The last thing I said is not true. That's not all I want. But it doesn't matter. I just want you back, cowboy. In whatever way you want to be associated with me._

_E._

_..._

_January 15, Wednesday. 1:37a.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_Just got back from the 1__st__ Moscow Rock Festival. They called it "Rock Yolka" (fir tree), like a regular traditional New Year celebration event. (It's the New Year day today, by the way, according to the Gregorian calendar). Yes, it's still an underground event. Even though they have been organizing semi-opened rock festivals in Leningrad and Tallinn for a couple of years by now. _

_It's a progress, right? Although not all those who played at the festival could strictly be classified as rock. Perhaps it will someday be classified as Russian rock. My favorite is still Nautilus__1__, from Sverdlovsk. Slava, the lead singer, is seriously talented. Beautiful too. Almost as beautiful as you. Artyom also thinks that he will go far. _

_I'm not sure if the Wings is ready to participate. Even though some of the bands at the Moscow event were not particularly good. Perhaps we should record a few songs and give them to Artyom for vetting. _

_Not the songs in English, though. Your songs. Don't know if I will ever be ready to play them to others. Least of all to you._

_E._

_..._

_January 18, Saturday. Midnight._

_Called you but you were not home. You don't want anything to do with me anymore, do you? Or maybe you are out of the country again? _

_Jack, oh, Jack. I wish I could stop thinking about you. I wish I knew how to forget you. But I don't._

_It has just occurred to me: I'm condemned to you, Jack. For life. Maybe even from the day I was born._

_E._

_..._

_January 19. _

_Don't know time it is. Maybe it's the next day already. Who cares!_

_So I'm drunk. So what? It's not like you care. I'm nothing to you but a great fuck._

_No. I don't believe that. You made love to me. We made love! Da? Fucking can't feel that way. I know how 'fucking' feels. And I know you didn't feel that way either when you were with me. I saw it in your eyes. I saw __something__! Something…_

_So dizzyingly blue _

_cornflowers were _

_last summer in the meadow, _

_like tattered fragments of the sky, _

_unraveled story of my life._

_I must have imagined that 'something'. Otherwise you'd have called by now. _

_Fuck you, Jack! Why can't you just call and lie to me? Tell me you want to be my friend. Lie to me, Jack! I'll even take that. That's how low I've fallen. _

_I hate you! _

_I hate myself! _

_I love you._

_..._

_January 26, Sunday. 10p.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_I'm sorry. I got my shit together. I'm sober now, for 3 days. _

_Sevka came and dragged my ass out of the apartment; took away the bottles before Anya came and helped to clean it up. I am such a bastard for treating them like I do. I should either marry Anya or let Sevka marry her. But I keep leading them on. Because it's convenient. And safe. And everybody thinks that's the way it should be._

_Will I ever be able to be who I want to be? __With whom__ I want to be?_

_Impossible dreams. Just like my parents'. They never came true._

_E._

_..._

_February 1, Saturday. 11:45 p.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_We played 2 songs for Artyom today. He liked them, esp. my 'Atomic Twilight' (it's not really a song, more like a theme and variation, with a bit of recitative). He gave us some good advice, too. Said we are ready to register for the rock lab. _

_It has been warm today, around zero. Has been raining with snow since afternoon. I felt restless and decided to walk from the University. It took me 85 minutes to get home. Got soaked. Wrote a new song. For you. Even if you don't want any of this, it is for you._

_I want to kiss away the sadness from your lashes_

_I want to empty all my life into your arms_

_I want to hope into your dreams_

_I want to glow under your skin_

_And I want to drown in the bluest of the blue –_

_the color of your eyes._

_So, burn up the scores, _

_turn off the stage lights_

_and lock up all guitars—_

_the only melody _

_I celebrate tonight _

_is the music of your heart._

_Where are you, cowboy? I wish you peace with everything you do._

_Your friend, E. _

_..._

_..._

_..._

Jack took a last drag on his cigarette and shivered. It was pretty chilly in the doorways at the end of the carriage corridor but he wasn't in a hurry to return to his well-heated first-class compartment. His new friend Jim Grover, the political officer at the US Embassy in East Berlin, and his wife Ellie were having yet another round of tea. Jack looked at his watch again. Another hour and a half till they reached _Berlin Ostbahnhof, _ East Berlin's main train station. He liked the couple but felt he could use a break after the two and a half days of old Jim's highly philosophical deliberations and Ellie's smothering patronage.

Ok, so he was being a brat—they seemed to genuinely like him, treated him like a son, even though they had known him for less than three weeks. But Jack desperately needed a moment alone and if freezing in a draughty and noisy end of carriage was the price, so be it.

It was getting dark, although it was not yet 5:00p.m., and snowing. Again.

It had been either snowing or raining or both at the same time since he had arrived in East Berlin, three weeks ago. In fact, it had been raining or snowing everywhere he'd been after the night… since the day he'd received William's instruction to go to Paris for the holidays. A-S-A-P. And so it had been raining and snowing ever since: in Moscow, in Paris, in Frankfurt, in Berlin, both East and West, and in Dresden from where they were returning. And it would doubtless still be raining _and_ snowing in Berlin when they got there. Fucking weather! Made him feel like he would never see the sun again.

On top of weeks of this lousy weather, and that _other thing_ he tried very hard not to think about right now, nothing appeared to be working out as Joe had planned...

…

_Late afternoon on New Year's day, as Jack was nursing a hangover from half a bottle of JB on an empty stomach, he received a call from the commo room. It was actually the third time the phone rang in the space of ten minutes, so he had given in and answered. Sounding annoyed, the officer on duty informed Jack that he was to come over to pick up his high priority cable. _

_It was from William, who instructed Jack to pack his bag and leave for a vacation trip to Paris in two days. But not before he had applied for a business visa to East Germany, to be picked up in Frankfurt. Jack was being seconded to the Embassy in East Berlin for a month immediately after his holidays in order to help the public affairs officer there with a student exchange agreement with the East Germans. _

_So that was it, the special assignment that Joe had told him about during their last meeting in Garmisch. And the Paris leg was probably going to be for the briefing. Probably by Joe Cohen himself, given the 'sensitive' nature of the assignment, he figured, feeling resentful._

_It was by Joe indeed, in a safe house at the fringes of Paris. To Jack's relief, the Head of Ops was preoccupied and all business the whole time. And it was no wonder, given the things Jack learned during their two-day one-on-one briefing. _

_By December 31, the Agency had lost six Soviet agents in seven months—and that was not counting the two who had managed to come in from the cold, two non-human assets and other agencies' fouled-up cases during the same period. It was either technical or human penetration and the prime suspect was the Moscow Station. _

_As a result, the Head of SE Division had decided to introduce a new procedure for handling Soviet agents until the leak was identified and fixed. All reporting on potential agents was to be in person on _this_ side of the Iron Curtain, with no sensitive operational briefings conducted in the Tank at the Embassy in Moscow. No cable communication about agents or potential agents, the main targets of Op Light Water included. All other communications between Langley and the field were to be double encrypted. Until further notice. _

_So much for the Moscow situation. _

_In East Berlin conditions were somewhat different. One key difference was that it was almost impossible to recruit agents in the Democratic Republic of Germany. The Ministerium fur Staatssicherheit, infamously known as Stasi, had such a tight grip on its people that virtually no one dared to spy for anybody but the Stasi itself. For this latter work there actually were quite a number of willing parties. As a result, the handful of agents the East Berlin Station had been able to recruit since the erection of the Berlin Wall in 1961 had all later turned out to be double agents. _

_The situation had somewhat changed two years earlier, with the arrival of a new Station Chief —Lorenza Neumann, a rising star of the European Division, previously based in Austria. Within a year, the Station was running an agent. True, he was a low level, active duty surveillance officer, but a Stasi officer nonetheless. It was a major breakthrough and overnight the tiny East Berlin Station had turned from something of a backwater into a place where 'real business' was carried out. _

_By this time the Four Power Berlin Agreement of 1971 had started to prove to be working and as a result there was a small but steady flow of East Germans coming for day work in West Berlin. Nobody had any doubts that those who were cleared for crossing over to the Western sector included Stasi officers and their agents. But it helped to warm up the relationship between the two blocs as well as the life in the blockaded West Berlin and thus was accepted as inevitable. _

_So over the last few months the Deputy Station Chief had had numerous meetings in different hotels in West Berlin with the agent they called Baldie, who had been revealing everything he knew about Stasi surveillance and officers in his unit. Now it was time for the second potential target. _

_Lorenza Neumann had spotted him by chance in a small bar in West Berlin where she, like many of the staff of the Embassy in East Berlin, came over regularly. She recognized him immediately: he was one of senior officers in Baldie's unit whose pictures he had shared with his handlers. She had pretended not to notice him, but requested additional info from Baldie on all senior officers of his unit. At the same time, the picture of the man, now nicknamed Blondie, had been circulated to the West Berlin Station together with a request to cover the bar. Sure enough, Blondie turned up twice more, on the same day of the week. That and Baldie's report on the man had raised hopes that he might be recruitable. Now they needed to determine what pitch should be used on him._

_And so case officer Twist's task on this assignment was to frequent the bar, as well as other bars in the vicinity, assess the man and make a contact, if it happened to be opportune. He didn't have to pitch him, though. Not just yet. _

_Besides, he had another assignment in East Berlin: Jack was to start out his secondment by flirting with all women at the Embassy, but gradually 'set his eyes' on Lorenza Neumann. By the end of his stay, the two of them had to project an image of a couple pretty smitten with each other. _

_Seeing a silent rebuke in Jack's eyes and his pressed together lips, Joe patiently explained that it was primarily for sake of the unmarried East Berlin chief— a couple of months ago she had been set up and pitched by the Sovs. _

_One of her Hungarian contacts had invited her to a quiet East Berlin restaurant and never showed up in the end. While waiting for him, she had been approached by a KGB American targets officer. The Russian had showed her a video production of _This is Your Life _on a portable video cassette player. It had obviously been taken by concealed Stasi cameras, shooting through pinholes in her apartment. The 'story' was that Neumann might be involved with one of her female East Berlin officers—something she would certainly not want Langley to know. _

_The East Berlin chief thanked the man for the entertainment and told him he could go sell it to someone else and that she would immediately report the incident, in great detail, to Washington. The next morning the full account of the attempted recruitment had been on the desks of Head of SE Division and his Head of Ops._

_So the Sovs were using that tactic again. Had they barked up the wrong tree, Jack wondered, or did this woman simply have nerve? He didn't dare ask his boss if the KGB was right, though, and why the Agency didn't take the opportunity to use Lorenza Neumann_ _as a dangle. Joe had said he had turned out to be the best of the pack, the most adaptable… Yeah, right, he was probably the only one who had been stupid enough to agree to take part in Joe Cohen's obscure plans… _

_After the briefing, Jack spent another two days playing a tourist in Paris. During the day, he spent most of his time in the Louvre, the Musée d'Orsay, the Eiffel Tower and small coffee shops around them. For the nighttime, he had chosen a little family restaurant near his hotel and spent all his evenings there, made friends with the owner and her 30-year-old daughter who didn't speak English and the twenty year old son who did._

_On the second Wednesday of January he took the train to Frankfurt, got his East German visa on Thursday and on Friday landed at __Berlin Schönefeld Airport. __He checked in at Unter den Linden Hotel on the corner of Friedrichstrasse in downtown East Berlin, then immediately crossed over to West Berlin and hit the bars. On his third night out in town, he 'bumped' into Lorenza Neumann at one of the bars. _

_She looked younger than her thirty-eight years and more uptight than in the picture Joe had shown him in Paris. Jack figured maybe she liked the idea of them playing the dating game as much as he did. Anyway, it was part of their jobs, so they started 'running into each other' frequently after that. _

_By the end of his first week Jack was also on a first name basis with most of the staff and contractors and spending most of his lunches in female company. Every evening he would cross Checkpoint Charlie to West Berlin and spend his time and money at bars and restaurants around his 'target ground'. _

_He spotted Blondie on Thursday of his second week, one of the two days of the week the man usually popped up at this bar. It was a strange place, featuring a mélange of regular straights folks, macho types in leather, gays, prostitutes of all denominations and even a couple of cross-dressers. No wonder Neumann's assessment of Blondie was that he might be either gay or had some other, 'unorthodox sexual interest'. _

_Jack wondered what _she_ had been doing at that bar in the first place. He couldn't tell whether she was a lesbian or not. He figured out two things, though: that she tried very hard to project an image of a party girl she wasn't and that he was not her type. Neither of them implicated her as not being straight, though. _

_The thing Jack was more or less certain about was that Blondie wasn't queer: after over an hour of sitting in a dark corner, nursing a beer, Blondie picked up the drunkest, most unsightly prostitute and left with her. So he was probably into 'other unorthodox sexual interests'. But that was not Jack's job anymore—he'd done his bit._

_What baffled him was why Joe had gone to such lengths to bring him over for what seemed like a pretty simple job. If Lorenza couldn't be seen covering the guy, Jack was pretty sure one of the West Berlin Station's case officers could have done it, no problem. All they had to do was to hang out long enough at this place. Right? _

_Unless playing a cover boyfriend for Lorenza Neumann was in fact the primary assignment… _

… _Or was it she who was intended to be his beard—in Joe Cohen's grand scheme of things? Jesus, this is all so convoluted, he didn't even know what he was doing and for what purpose any more. Fucking Joe Cohen!_

_The following week, Jack created a little accident while Blondie was waiting for his drink at the bar. He bumped into the leather-clad slender youth with lined eyes who was standing right behind Blondie, causing him to spill his whole glass of beer over the Stasi's jacket and pants. The poisonous glare the man gave the youth further convinced Jack that if their target was queer, then he was so deeply closeted that he might not even realize it himself. _

_What he also noticed, though, was a flicker of recognition in the man's eyes__when they met Jack's. But the German immediately looked down at his clothes, left his beer and headed to the gents. Shortly after that he left the bar. Jack reckoned he knew that Jack worked at the US Embassy in East Berlin—he was from the surveillance unit that covered the Embassy after all. The fact that he didn't engage with Jack but left in a hurry when Jack tried to strike up a conversation indicated that he wasn't there on 'official' business. _

_That was the last time Jack saw Blondie. He didn't know what happened to him afterwards, but it wasn't his job anyway; pitching Stasi officers was the prerogative of the East Berlin Station._

_The assignment with Lorenza Neumann wasn't much better. They went out either in East Berlin or in the Western sector every two or three days and managed to look love-struck, Jack slept over at her place three times and every time they had sex—for the Stasi's records. But there was no real chemistry between them and it put a strain on both of them. So by the time they were supposed spend a romantic weekend in Dresden before Jack's departure, Lorenza had announced she was summoned to Bonn and left, after an exaggeratedly stormy night at her apartment. So Jack spent the weekend in Dresden with the Grovers instead._

…

Jack lit another cigarette and leaned against the cold plastic wall of the corridor. Another five minutes and he would be fine… If only he could get rid of this guilty feeling that he hadn't called… Never mind…

…

_He liked Dresden and had to admit that in large part it was thanks to Jim and Ellie. They knew the city and its history inside out and had been only too happy to share their enthusiasm about the place with Jack. It was Jim's third posting in East Germany and the couple truly appreciated the country and empathized with its people. _

_They had dragged him around town on trams, then on foot in the rain, to show him the Zwinger, the bridge over the Elbe called the Blue Wonder, the ruins of the Frauenkirche and some other sites under restoration. The highlight of the trip was the performance of Wagner's Lohengrin at Semperoper. Jack wasn't really an opera fan, but the night at the magnificent, newly rebuilt theatre left him in quiet awe. _

_In the end, Jack had managed to enjoy his bonus trip to Dresden, despite the stifling coverage the Stasi had put on them the moment the three of them left Berlin. _

_The surveillance wasn't particularly comprehensive in Berlin (just 'Berlin' of course, as opposed to West Berlin which was a foreign territory), probably because every corner there was tapped and videotaped. Besides, the Stasi kept its people in such fear that nobody dared to spy for western intelligence. As a result, they didn't even bother tailing foreigners 24/7 like they did outside of Berlin. In fact, the Stasi could easily put their Soviet counterparts to shame in the surveillance department, primarily thanks to their truly German, pedantic meticulousness. _

_However, the Stasi wasn't the only organ which took an interest in Jack's escapades in East Germany. Right from the beginning of his Dresden trip Jack was under no illusions about Volodya, the short and scrawny Russian with thin, straw-colored hair and dark circles under his pale gray eyes, that they ran into._

_Jack had singled him out the moment he had sighted him chasing the departing Berlin – Dresden fast train and jumping on in their first class car reserved mostly for foreigners. He hadn't approached them that time, but was all over Jack when they had miraculously found themselves in the adjacent seats at the Semperoper. _

_Volodya had dutifully rejoiced when he had learned that Jack was visiting the GDR but actually was based in Moscow, where he was from, too. So they had ordered Champagne during the intermission, for acquaintance's sake, then spent the rest of the night after the performance in the restaurant of the hotel where Jack and the Grovers stayed —to the displeasure of the couple, who were truly worried about Jack and wouldn't leave him alone with the suspicious Russian type. Jack had ordered a bottle of Stolichnaya and German cold cuts and they had talked about life in Moscow and Dresden, mostly Jack again, peppering his German with Russian words and conspiratorially leaning into his new friend Volodya, until the restaurant closed up at midnight. They had kissed three times in the old Russian tradition and Volodya had left. But not before promising to be in touch and to call Jack when he was on leave in Moscow._

…

So finally, they were making a move on him. Joe should be happy—his plan was working. Well, sort of, as it seemed like they didn't need to enact the 'seawater' part of the dangle setup. Jack prayed that they wouldn't have to use it at all. And definitely not in relation to Ennis… Shit, he should have called him before leaving Moscow in a hurry. But things had been so hectic before his departure that he hadn't had a chance… _Yeah, right_… Ok, so he'd been confused and reeling from… the night at the Volkonskys' and wasn't ready to talk to him yet. So now he just had to live with this sense of guilt that had been festering in him ever since he had left Moscow…

Jack exhaled sharply, crushed the cigarette butt against the sole of his boot, dropped it in the small cast iron ashtray on the wall. If you can't fix it, you just had to stand it, as his old man used to say. Old bastard, why did he get to be right most of the time?

Or did he?

He wrenched opened the door to the passenger section with the determination he didn't quite feel.

* * *

A/N:

* Nautilus Pompilius, was a prominent Soviet/Russian rock band formed by the lead singer Vyacheslav (Slava) Butusov and bassist Dmitry Umetsky from Sverdlovsk (now Ekaterinburg). Active between 1983-1997, Nautilus were an influential band in the post-punk, New Wave wing of Russian rock music and also a landmark of the "Ural rock" style with their philosophical lyrics. (From Wikipedia)


	20. Chapter 20

- 20 -

It was almost -20C and snowing again when Jack returned to Moscow in the first week of February. During the day the wind swirled the falling snow in a never-ending roundelay; at night myriads of snowflakes floated in the air, muffling all sounds, blanketing everything in white, transforming the city into a fairytale setting. Somehow, as soon as he exited from Sheremetievo Airport, Jack's restlessness evaporated. He felt oddly at home.

New security rules and arrangements aside, his usual Embassy crowd and Stella greeted him like a prodigal son, throwing a welcome-back party for him at the Marines Club. The next day was his birthday, so he organized his own celebration, starting at 7:00p.m. at Uncle Sam's, then moving to the Marines Club and ending at the Seabees Club after midnight. Around one, he hauled up a drunk and giggling Stella, called a taxi and took her home. She was pretty much done but wouldn't let go of him, so he suggested that they have another drink—it was part of his plan anyway. When he poured out two shots of whiskey in two tumblers, she happily gulped down hers and passed out on the couch.

Jack put down his, lifted her up, like a huge rag doll, and took her to the bedroom where he carefully put her on the bed, unclothed her and tucked her in with her red and black comforter. Then he undressed down to his boxers and t-shirt, lay down the other side of her double bed and pulled a corner of the comforter over him.

He closed his eyes and kept very still. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep—he'd actually had only four drinks the whole evening, not enough to dissolve the adrenaline coursing through his veins. But he needed some rest in order to get himself into the op run state of alertness—if he was going to do this. Today. This morning.

The thought had come to him on the train back from Dresden. At first Jack had discarded the idea as totally stupid thing to do: if the KGB didn't get him, then the Agency would definitely fire him if they happened to learned about his antics. But the idea wouldn't go away and by the time Jack landed in Moscow, he had a full operational plan in his head. Just like they had taught him at the Farm.

He had to do it, right? He'd been an asshole and now had to let Ennis know he was sorry. But Jack suspected that if he called, Ennis wouldn't want to talk to him—not after he'd disappeared without a word for a month yet again. He couldn't bear the thought of Ennis hanging up on him. So he would do this and if Ennis threw him out _then_, so be it. He deserved it. At least he would say he was sorry while looking straight into Ennis's eyes, like a man.

Jack opened his eyes and looked at the watch on his wrist. It was ten minutes to 5:00a.m. He felt calm and in control, like at the start of an operation.

He got up quietly, picked up his clothes and tiptoed to the bathroom where he took a leak, then a quiet shower, drying himself off with a hand towel. Then he brushed his teeth with a folding toothbrush he had brought with him and placed it in the glass together with Stella's. Once dressed, he scribbled 'Baby, thank you for the wonderful evening & night. Didn't want to wake you up. See you later, J' on a yellow sticker note, stuck it on the door of the fridge, took his shoulder bag and left, carefully pulling the door behind him till he heard the lock clicked.

Jack prepared a sheepish smile and a chatty greeting for the _militzia_ guard in the booth in front of the compound, but nobody was there when he stepped out. He was pretty sure his departure was recorded on the hidden cameras though, wherever they were. To hell with them, so they would eventually figure out that he had been missing for a few hours, big deal. He would come up with a story later, if necessary… If they didn't manage to put a tail on him now, that is.

It was 5:15 a.m., forty-five minutes before the Metro opened and the trains started running. Jack turned up the collar of his winter coat and commenced his improvised CS run, on foot—first to the west, towards Gorky Park, then three blocks south, then four blocks east, gradually moving south-west towards the district where Ennis lived. By the time the Metro opened, Jack was only one station away from Metro _Oktyabrskaya_, the nearest one to Stella's place. And freezing. He'd checked the thermometer on Stella's kitchen window before he left: minus 22C. As if he could do anything about it—tough luck.

Jack took the Metro grey line going south, instead of Ennis's orange one. He alighted at Station _Kakhovskaya, _almost due west from Station _Belyayevo,_ the nearest to Ennis's place, and started walking again. By 7:00 a.m. Jack was pretty sure he was free of surveillance. And hoped that Ennis didn't have to go anywhere early today.

…And that he was alone.

He called from the phone booth one block from Ennis's apartment building.

Ennis answered on the sixth ring, his voice brusque, alarmed. "Alyo?"

"_Privet_, En—" his voice cracked and he pretended coughing to cover his embarrassment. "Sorry, it's me… Have I, um, woken you up?"

There was a short pause before Ennis answered, "No, I've got up already… _Privet_." He was obviously at loss for words.

Same as Jack. "Listen, um, I just thought… We need to talk, Ennis… Can I come up?"

"Now?"

"Yeah. I'm half a block from your place."

"You are _where_?... Oh, damn! But of course, come up. Yes, please!"

"Alright, thanks. I'll be there in five minutes."

Jack hung up, took a final, covert look around and scurried towards the building where Ennis lived. He took the elevator to the fifth floor, then walked up the rest. He didn't need to press the bell—the door opened as soon as he came up to it and Jack ducked inside.

The only light in the apartment was coming from the kitchen on the right and what seemed like a bedside light from the bedroom on the left.

"Hiagain_…_ God, it's cold outside," Jack said in English, feeling self-conscious, not sure where to start. "Sorry that I'm so early. I—"

"It's okay. Take your coat off and come in. I'll make you a hot tea…. Or coffee?" he sounded awkward and avoided looking into Jack's eyes.

So Ennis was pissed off with him, then. Well, served him right.

"A coffee please, if you have it…" _For Christ's sake, hasn't he just offered it?_

"Sure. Come on into the living room. You can turn on the light there, on the wall near the door." He hesitated for a second but said nothing more, then turned and went to the kitchen.

He thought he heard Ennis stifle a sigh. Right, this was going to be short.

He dropped his shoulder bag down on the floor, hung up his coat, took off his boots and walked to the living room in his socks. He stopped in the doorways and reached automatically for the switch on the wall on the right, at the waist level—the same place as in his apartment. When the lights were on, Jack look around the living room.

He hadn't really seen it the last time he was there—they'd never got as far as the living room. Now he took his time, taking in little details about Ennis's habitat that might be all he would have to hang on to for the foreseeable future. He hoped not, though.

The room was of a standard size for a one bedroom apartment, around 30 square meters of space cramped with a complete set of furniture and furnishings. A mahogany-colored four-seat dinner table; a wall-length cupboard almost entirely filled with books and a medium sized TV on the lowest shelf; a couch opposite the cupboard and a cozy chair with two cushions near the balcony; a floor lamp with a shade the same gold-brown color as the bedside lamp Jack remembered seeing in the bedroom. The floor-length curtains at the tiny balcony had the same motif as the carpet on the wall, the tablecloth and the lampshades—gold, deep reds and browns. There was the smell of cigarettes and coffee about the place, and also of burnt wire and perhaps paper. Jack inhaled deeply, taking in a lungful of those masculine scents, trying to remember them. For later.

As he stepped into the room and sat down on the sofa, Jack noticed a book with a faux-leather cover on the seat of the armchair, as if someone had been reading it while lying on the couch and then left it there. He picked it up and realized that it wasn't a book, but rather an expensive looking diary in a fancy binding. It fell open in the middle where a ballpoint pen was snapped in.

Ennis had said he used to write a diary when he was kid, to his imaginary friend Jack… _Used to_? And when Jack teased him that he'd thought of Jack as his childhood pen pal in flesh, he hadn't denied it...

Suddenly sweat broke around Jack's hairline and under his arms. _No, he can't be doing this. Not here. You can't do this, Ennis, you can't! _

He quickly leafed through the diary. Some of the pages were missing, torn out; there were verses written on others. "_I want to kiss the sorrow off your lashes_…"

A postcard fell out from between the pages—reproduction of a painting of a dark-haired ranch boy wearing an old straw hat and red kerchief around his neck—and with it two dry cornflowers on one stem. Jack bent down swiftly, picked them up, put them back in between the pages and closed the diary. When he raised his head, Ennis was standing at the door with a steaming cup of coffee, starring at him—wide eyed, startled.

_Fuck!_ "I'm sorry, I thought it was a book… But Ennis, have you been—"

"No." The young man shook his head firmly.

"But it's a diary, is it not? You still keep a diary? And you write about…?" Oh god, this was not happening! How could he be so stupid, this boy?!

"Jack, listen to me. Please." He put the cup of coffee on the table and took few quick steps towards Jack. "I don't _keep_ a diary. Okay?"

"You don't? But this is _your_ diary. Isn't it?" Jack thrust the book towards him.

"Yes. But look, there's nothing in it." He grabbed the diary from Jack's hand, opened it and fanned the pages open to show Jack that most of them were blank. "Only a few songs…. There's nothing in here about you, Jack. See?... You don't need to worry." Ennis smiled weakly at him and Jack realized that he looked embarrassed and contrite. "I don't _keep_ a diary," he repeated and shook his head softly.

"What does _that_ mean? Do you write in your diary?"

"Yes." Ennis sighed. "But as I said, I don't _keep_ what I write. Except the songs."

"What do you do with the rest?" Jack was confused now.

"I burn them. As soon as I finish writing… Nobody's ever seen them, Jack. Please, don't worry… Please?" His tone and his eyes were pleading.

Jack looked at him for a few moments, then shook his head, still baffled, "But if you burn it, why write it?"

Ennis dropped his eyes, stuffed his hands in his jeans' pockets and shuffled his feet. Then he raised his head to meet Jack's eyes and shrugged awkwardly, the color creeping up his cheeks and forehead, "Just need to talk sometimes… to someone… To you," he finished under his breath and looked away.

There was a long pause while Jack tried to swallow down a lump the size of an apple in his throat. God, give him the strength to… He didn't know what he wanted do about this unbelievable man.

Clearly disturbed by the silence, Ennis ventured to look at him again. He met Jack's eyes and whispered, "I'm sorry."

Jack bridged the distance between them in one large step and stopped, unsure what he should do next—forgive Ennis or seek his forgiveness? He put his hands on Ennis's shoulders, gazed into his troubled eyes, then rested his forehead against Ennis's and closed his eyes.

Ennis gently slipped his arms around Jack's waist, leaned in and brushed his lips against his. The touch was feather-light, as if seeking permission.

Jack swallowed, turned his head and pressed his mouth into the side of Ennis's face. He whispered brokenly, "I'm sorry. I was a prick... I should've called…"

Ennis's embrace tightened immediately. "Shhh, it's alright, Jack…. Forget what I said… that night. It doesn't matter." He leaned back a little and peered into his eyes. "We're still friends, right?"

"Right," Jack nodded, trying to ignore the dart of pain in his chest. Hadn't he wanted Ennis to take back _the words_? He'd just done it. So what was the problem?

Ennis leaned in again, his lips a hair's breadth from Jack's, but not touching, waiting for Jack to show him what he wanted. Or didn't want.

Jack took in a shaky breath, covered Ennis's mouth with his for a moment and let go. Then he began to slowly plant soft , open-mouth kisses on Ennis's lips, his eyes, his forehead, his chin. "Christ, Ennis… d'you have… any idea… whatcha do… t' me? If they find out… 'bout us…"

Ennis caught Jack's face between his hands, waited till Jack opened his eyes and said solemnly, "Jack, do what you have to do. Don't worry about me. Just know this: whatever you do, I'll still… you'll still be my friend. Always."

Jack laughed helplessly, overcome with tenderness that he had always thought of as just a momentary weakness. "C'mere, _friend_. I'll show you what I gotta do… now."

He pulled Ennis's face close to him again and started kissing him anew, slowly inching down his neck, his collarbone, his chest, Jack's chapped fingers clearing the path for his soft lips and hot, wet tongue. Oh, he'd already figured out what could drive this man delirious and he intended to take him there again—right here on the couch in his living room, right this fricking minute.

Ennis's legs started buckling, so Jack pushed him gently towards the couch, laid him down, knelt by his side and began unzipping his jeans.

"You don't have to…," Ennis protested weakly, his eyes already glazed over.

Jack stopped and cocked an eyebrow. "Tell me you don't like it and I'll quit."

Ennis's face flushed red. "No! Uh, I like it, but—"

"Then shut up and enjoy."

He flashed his teeth and dimples at his friend happily, pulled his jeans and briefs down carefully, letting Ennis's fully erect cock spring out proud and free. Then he ducked his head and dragged his tongue over its moist, glistening tip.

Ennis whimpered as his hips flexed involuntarily.

"Thought you didn't want me to…" Jack murmured and shot him a mocking glare.

"Jaaack!"

"Alright, alright! I'm on it. Just keep it down, friend." He took Ennis's throbbing rod in his mouth, as far as he could and started pumping, one hand fisted firmly around the base of Ennis's cock, the other fondling his heavy balls.

It didn't take him long to bring Ennis to climax, but that was alright—it was only seven-thirty, so he had another hour and thirty minutes before all conscientious Soviet citizens would be having their morning teas and coffees at work and he could make a discreet exit from Ennis's apartment and building.

When Ennis came back to his senses, he got up, pulled up his jeans without zipping them, took Jack's hand and wordlessly led him to the bedroom. He pushed Jack gently toward the bed, then turned around and left the room again.

He returned half a minute later with a bottle of cooking oil that Jack immediately recalled them using first time he was here. He was standing by the bed wearing nothing but socks, his clothes scattered on the floor. Ennis's eyes immediately zeroed in on his proudly erect cock that was jutting out of the nest of dark hair, already leaking.

"Like what you see?" Jack smiled sheepishly and swallowed, trying to control his breath.

Ennis closed in on him quickly and put the bottle on the bedside table without looking. The next thing Jack knew, both of Ennis's hands were on him—one wrapped firmly around his shaft, the other gently cupping his balls.

"Yess." He touched Jack's lips quickly with his, then knelt down.

Jack shuddered as the wet hotness enveloped the head of his achingly hard dick. "Ennisss, I won't last long," he hissed.

Ennis let go of him and stood up, pushed Jack down on the bed and undressed quickly. "Condom?" He looked at Jack solemnly as he sat down next to him in the bed.

God, the man could really read his mind, couldn't he? Jack uncurled the fingers of his right hand, displaying the little foil packet he had been holding.

"No! Let me," Ennis whispered urgently as Jack tried to tear open the packet, taking it from his hands. He put his right hand flat on Jack's chest and pushed him firmly onto his back. "It's my turn," he said and straddled him, their balls almost touching.

Ennis was once again hard and ready. Without the slightest hesitation he rolled the condom onto Jack, then opened the oil bottle, and poured some onto his palm. He put the bottle back and turned all his attention to Jack's cock, biting on his lower lip in concentration. When he was done, he rose on his knees, positioned himself over Jack's stomach and reached for Jack's fingers with his oil-smeared hand.

"Help me." He pulled at Jack's hand at placed the fingers at his opening.

"Yeah." Jack pushed one finger in tentatively, and took Ennis's rod with his other hand.

Ennis sucked in his breath and closed his eye, his head thrown back, his thighs flexing. "Two now," he grated out impatiently, taking deep breaths. Oh, yeah, he was a quick learner!

He didn't think Ennis was quite ready for that yet, but did as he'd been asked. He pushed a second finger into Ennis, stretching him, increased the speed and pressure working on Ennis's shaft. He thought he could come just by looking at what his hands were doing to his lover.

It hadn't even been a minute when Ennis opened his eyes, pushed Jack's hands away with visible effort, and repositioned himself. He took hold of Jack's cock and placed the head at his hole.

"Too soon, Ennis. It'll hurt." Jack was barely able to resist the urge to thrust, the pressure on the tip of his dick so maddeningly sweet.

"It's worth it." He met Jack's eyes and his lips curled up a little. "_You_ are. I want you."

"Slowly then… Or I'll shoot… Oh, _Christ_!"

He didn't stand a chance: the pleasure was too intense as Ennis eased ever so slowly down onto him. Almost as soon as he started riding, Jack climaxed and exploded in a thousand brilliant little suns.

…

He knew he was dreaming and in his dream he was running late. So late that Marat and William had sent out the entire Moscow Station to look for him. And cabled Joe, too, to request a search and rescue squad. The problem was, he couldn't open his eyes. Couldn't wrench himself free of the iron hold that someone had put on him, from behind—couldn't, because it was so incredibly gentle, at the same time so hard, so firm. Made him feel safe. Made him feel lo… truly cared for. How would he ever be able to feel like this again, if he left now?... And, God help him, he was so late!…

He jerked and opened his eyes.

The bedside lamp under the golden brown shade cast a warm, soft light on everything. The alarm clock next to it showed 8:13 a.m. The heavy curtains on the window were tightly drawn but Jack knew it was still dark outside and would stay dark for another hour at least.

Ennis stirred behind him. "It's still early," he murmured, pulling Jack closer and pressing his face into the nape of Jack's neck.

"How do you know, smarty-pants?" Jack hummed, trying to hold back his out of control grin.

"You worry too much," Ennis pointed out, ignoring his question.

"Just enough for the two of us."

"You don't need to worry about me, Jack. Really." His tone softened and he kissed the back of Jack's head.

"Someone has to." Jack turned around in Ennis's arms to face him, draping his right arm over his hip. "We have thirty minutes. What you wanna do? Wanna talk?" He smiled at the young man encouragingly.

Ennis's ears and cheeks flushed. "Okay," he smiled back a little, but Jack saw doubt in his eyes.

"But?"

"Well, uh… _you_ only came _once_." The color on his face deepened. "It's not fair."

Christ, the man was incorrigible! Jack grinned happily. "You wanna give me a birthday present?"

"Birthday present? When is your birthday?"

"Yesterday, actually—"

"Yesterday?" Ennis raised himself on an elbow, looking both surprised and distraught. "Why didn't you…" His face clouded and he trailed off.

"I just got back a couple of days ago, bud… Thought I needed _this_ birthday present," Jack slid his arm around Ennis's waist and pulled him closer.

"I haven't prepared anything special for—"

"You have _everything _special that I want… for a present," Jack whispered hotly and pushed a knee in between his legs. _You are my present… _

"Okay… What d'you want me to do?" Ennis was still raised up on his elbow, looking down on Jack, concerned.

"Nothing. Just be yourself… with me…" He buried his face into Ennis's chest. _Just hold_ _me…_

As if he had read his thoughts, Ennis put one arm around Jack's shoulders, and cradled his head against his own chest with the other. He pressed his mouth and nose into Jack's hair.

"God, Jack," he said with a quiet, sad chuckle, "Who else _could_ I be myselfwith, if not you?"

They remained nestled in their embrace for a few moments. Then Ennis began to kiss Jack, first his forehead, his cheeks, his eyes, stopping to savor his mouth, then shifting so he could nibble and suck his neck and collarbone, as Jack had done for him on the couch. Slowly and deliberately he kissed his way down his chest, tonguing Jack's nipples, smiling to hear his lover stifled moans. When Ennis reached his stomach, Jack pushed him back. He rolled Ennis on his left side and wrapped himself around Ennis's back, their bodies fitting together perfectly. He pushed his right leg against Ennis's, moving it forward.

"You okay with this?" he murmured as he reached down and slid his fingers along Ennis' crack, probing.

"Yes," Ennis breathed. "You can… fuck me." There was a hint of a smile in his voice.

Jack snaked his arm under Ennis, wrapped it around his waist, then pulled his hips up. He spit twice into his palm and quickly slicked up his straining cock, hissing at his own touch. Ennis pushed back the moment he pressed the head against his opening and they both gasped as Jack's cock breached him.

"I wanna make _love_ to you," Jack whispered fiercely, and slid into him with one smooth stroke.

They made love unhurriedly this time, both on their sides, Jack spooning behind Ennis, holding him tight, trying his best to rein in the unbearable desire to race to the finish line. He tried to focus on each sensation Ennis elicited with his caresses, on his movements, memorizing each moan, each sigh… tried to give all he had in him to the one person who accepted him the way he was—flawed, unsure; who gave him what he had been yearning for all these years, just like that, without asking anything in return…

* * *

_Soundtrack: Give Me Love, by Ed Sheeran_


	21. Chapter 21

- 21 -

After their early morning interlude, Ennis tried to insist on taking him home again or at least to the Metro downtown where he could take the direct line home. But Jack stood his ground this time—he had to do another CS run to come in from the black. He couldn't do it with Ennis around, knowing that the organs were probably already on the look-out for him: he would have been 'unaccounted' for at least 5 hours by the time he emerged in the area where he lived. He suspected that they wouldn't let him go unpunished, and just prayed it would be something simple so that he could come up with a plausible story for his bosses' consumption.

He was glad that the morning was cold and murky, and it was snowing heavily again, so that he could turn down his fur hat that covered at least half of his face. He kept his head down and walked fast toward Metro _Belyaevo_, then turned right and scurried toward the large complex of the Pushkin Russian Language Institute—just a student running late for his morning class. He didn't stop there, however, but jumped onto a bus and alighted at the first Metro station it passed—_Yugo-Zapadnaya_ or South-West station.

As he was going down the stairs into the Metro station, Jack tripped and almost fell on the ice-slicked steps covered with a new layer of snow that neither the _babushkas_ nor city authoritieswere able to keep up with clearing lately. It suddenly occurred to him then what his 'story' for being late to work was and he also realized he wouldn't be the first casualty of a harsh Russian winter at the Embassy this month.

In short, Jack took a dive on the ice near his Metro station. He didn't bother going home: he flagged down a taxi and, holding his injured hand, and went straight to the Embassy's doctor. Jack entertained Dr. Callaway ("You can call me Martha") with the account of his unfortunate accident, while she fussed over his wrist and thumb—for a tad longer than necessary. In the end, she prescribed him three full days of rest at home.

His punishment by the organs came the next day and his Mustang, parked inside the guarded compound, fared worse than Jack himself as a result. Someone smashed the side window, ripped off the cassette player and cleared out the cassettes in the side box. If that weren't enough, the driver's door was bashed and a front wheel busted. Not surprisingly, the _militzia_ would never find the petty offender.

The drawback was that it left Jack without a car: the general services unit was so overwhelmed with the implementation of the new security measures that those who lived outside were instructed not to bring their cars into the Embassy compound without security's approval. The only other alternative was the garage that belonged to the UPDK, the omnipresent diplomatic services office of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs which everybody knew was run by the KGB. So Jack settled for waiting till the Embassy's mechanics were available.

But that wasn't the only repercussion from his disappearance. The following day the KGB put him under comprehensive coverage, which was still going strong by the end of the month. Jack didn't think they suspected him of being involved in espionage activities, though—his shadowing was too much in your face, as if they wanted to make sure Jack had no doubt whatsoever that he was being watched. No, it looked more like a punishment for his 'bad' behavior, for which his Mustang suffered the more severe consequences.

...

* * *

_February 8, Saturday. 12:25 a.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_I'm stupidly-drunk-happy: one, you've come back; and two, we __**made love**__. That's what you said you wanted to do—to make love to me. And then you did. God almighty, if it feels any better than that, I will die: my heart will not be able to contain all that I feel and will simply explode. _

_But I'll not tell you this—I've learned my lesson. And it's fine. I think you saw it in my eyes anyway. And I know you liked making love with me, too. _

_I was (still am!) so thrilled that you didn't insist on using a condom this time. I didn't ask why, but hope it was because you wanted to be close to me. Like I want to be close to you: as close as humanly possible. I want __**nothing**__ to come in-between us. Not even the thinnest of rubber. And I don't care if it's safe or not: I want to share everything with you, Jack, even your fate, whatever it is. You are my fate, anyway. _

_Still can't believe you found out about me __keeping__ writing a diary to you. For a moment I thought you'd kill me. Come on, Jack! I know I'm too idealistic, even act like a child sometimes. But I'm not naïve. Like I said, you worry too much, cowboy. _

_So, now you know how much I need you in my life. Ha, you've been part of it since I was nine. You're part of __**me.**__ You'll be part of me for the rest of my life. _

_I wish I could be part of yours. But it doesn't matter. _

_Don't remember who said 'If you truly love someone, let them go free'. _

_You just do what you need to do, my blue cornflower, moy vasi'liok._

_I love you._

_E._

_..._

_February 11, Tuesday. 11:08p.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_I still haven't come up with any idea of a birthday present to you—everything seems so insignificant and materialistic compared to what you've given me. The only thing that might somehow convey my gratitude is the last song I've written, The Music of Your Heart. _

_Just written the lyrics on a postcard. Thinking of giving it to you tomorrow when we meet at the Lenin Library. I'll sing it to you next time you come to my place. Hope you'll like it._

_You know what? I will sing this song at the rock lab—that's what I will do! Don't care if they don't do songs in other languages except Russian (because it's a __Russian rock__ festival). I'm a Russian too, even though I write some of my songs in English. It shouldn't matter which language we sing. Our hearts speak the same language, regardless of who we are. _

_I'll do it for you, cowboy. Will you come to see me perform? _

_Yours always,_

_E._

_..._

_February 14, Friday. 1:15 a.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_Just got back from Artyom's place. I went to see him about the song—to 'show' it to him and ask him to help us to enter it in the festival. He's very influential in the rock community. I'm sure they will listen to him. So I played it to him. He liked it and promised to help. As a compromise, he suggested that I should translate or write part of it in Russian. I can do that. Now I need to show it to my guys and practice it with them. _

_We were still talking when a group of Artyom's friends arrived. From Leningrad. I couldn't believe my eyes: it was Viktor Tsoi__1__, the leader of Kino, with his guitarist and his drummer. And Yura's (the guitarist) girl who is a rock singer too. Her name is Joanna__2__. She is from California, too. I'd heard about her before, that sometimes she performs with Boris Grebenshchikov__3__. Yes, with The B.G. that every Soviet rock fan knows. _

_Artyom introduced us, told them I have a band too and we are going to play in Leningrad in March. And so will they, as guests. _

_God, I'm so nervous knowing that we are going to play on the same stage in the same performance as guys like Kino and Nautilus. _

_Then we drank tea and vodka and talked in the kitchen. Joanna has been smuggling some home-made records of Kino, B.G.'s Aquarium and 2 other of our rock bands to California. They are going to release an album this summer in America. It's call 'Red Wave'. This is great!_

_And Joanna and Yura are going to get married later this year. _

_I wonder if you or I were a girl, would you…__Never mind._

_Then Joanna told us about the release of A. Shcharansky__4__ in West Berlin 2 days ago. Or rather his exchange for some Soviet bloc's spies. He is a refusnik and has been in a gulag for almost 10 years now for 'anti-government activities'. Ha, he probably just objected openly that they hadn't let him leave with his wife to Israel. Grandfather say he is a very talented mathematician. Anyway, of course our newspapers haven't printed anything about his exchange, but all western newspapers have. Joanna brought one with her, said she'd taken from the US Embassy __today__ yesterday when she was waiting for her papers._

_Have you read it too? I have. Can't forget what he had declared at his trial, when they had convicted him for spying:_

_**"****I am happy that I lived honestly and in peace with my conscience, and I never lied even when I was threatened with death."**_

_Jack, I wish I were able to say this too. I wish both of us could. _

_Will we ever be?_

_E._

_..._

_February 15, Saturday. 12:25a.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_The Wings is falling apart. _

_Told my guys that we're going to sing my Engl. language song at the rock festival. They said okay and I gave them the score and the text. We started practicing. Sevka was floundering and couldn't seem to get in the right mood. After some time, I told him off. He snapped back. I told him to focus if he wanted to participate in the Festival. He said he didn't anymore and walked out. I ran after him ready to fight him. Caught him at the door. He told me to get lost together with 'my Natasha', to leave Anya alone and not to come near him. He looked at me with such anger and accusation that I couldn't find anything to say. So he left. That was the end of the practice. And perhaps of the band, too. Now we can forget about the Festival. _

_Natasha is a girl we met at the conservatory. She is taking vocal classes on the same days Sevka and I are taking ours. She's got huge baby-blue eyes. And she seems to __like me__ have a crush on me. I had a coffee with her a couple of days ago and drove her home afterwards. Sevka didn't join us, went home right after the classes._

_I thought I had to justify somehow the lyrics of the song, if I was to sing it to people: none of my close friends has distinctively blue eyes. Except you. But they can't know that it's for you, right? I thought let them think maybe it's Natasha. Now it's backfiring. Big time. _

_I know Sevka cares for Anya deeply. Just didn't expect that it could ruin our friendship. And the band. But I can't blame him. If I were him, I would have done the same._

_And I still HAVE TO sing this damned song at the festival. Because it's for you. It's a present to you, cowboy. _

_So if I'm a traitor, like Sevka said, I'll go ahead and be an ultimate traitor: I'll ask Artyom to find us a percussionist, even for the rock lab only. He offered it last year anyway. Hope it's not too late._

_E._

_..._

_February 17, Monday. 8:13p.m._

_I don't know what's going on, Jack, why everything seems to be falling apart._

_I had an unpleasant conversation with Grisha today. As a result, I've fallen out with him, too. He told me now that our exchange project is complete I should stop inviting you to my grandfather's and stop hanging out with you in general. Because 'people' have started talking about it—that I'm hanging out with an American from the Embassy. He said it's good neither for me nor for my family. I told him I can hang out with whom I want to. And my family can take care of itself, too. He then said that I better think about when Grandfather can't protect us anymore because he's not eternal. I told him to get lost. He looked at me sadly and said he'll then better stay away as he doesn't want to betray me because I'm his friend. He also told me to be cautious with Anton—'the boy's too gullible' is what he said. _

_Is this the price I have to pay for being friends with you? Will I lose all of my friends, one by one? _

_One of the ballads in 'Juno and Avos' has these verses: "There's no other fair price for Love/Only one's life's enough, only life's enough…"._

_What price __**am I**__ willing to pay for a chance of being with you? I wouldn't think twice if it's my life only. But what if I had to pay with lives of others? My family, my friends?_

_I don't know, cowboy. I don't want to think about it. I hope it will never come to it. _

_I hope my life alone will be enough. It's yours anyway._

_Your friend,_

_E._

_..._

* * *

Just as Joe Cohen had warned Jack during their briefing in Paris, the new security rules at the Embassy were not limited to the ones imposed by the Agency on its Moscow Station. For one thing, when he returned to the office from East Germany, Jack's manual typewriter was gone.

Glen rolled his eyes and told him with a smirk that all manual typewriters had been 'removed'. The explanation given by the visiting security team from Washington was that the Sovs could pick up the sound from manual typewriters from across the street and decipher the text being typed. Fine, Jack thought, half of his classified reports were written by hand anyway, so he could do the same with the rest.

Besides the typewriters, the security office had also been busy testing everybody's cars and some apartments for spy dust, putting new cipher locks on all office doors and cabinets, and issuing written instructions on how to dispose of documents and stationary that had been used to prepare classified documents. Even things like used correction tape now had to be treated like classified documents.

It wasn't the biggest change, however. There had been a major reassignment of offices while Jack was away and as a result all local staff of the Embassy was now in the auxiliary buildings in the courtyard. All Americans and temporaries of other 'western' nationalities had moved into the 5th and 6th floor of the Embassy's main building. By mid-February, the Seabees had still not finished the remodeling of two corner rooms on two floors into additional bathrooms to accommodate the extra several dozen international staff inside the building.

Also in mid-January, the security office had introduced multicolored ID badges with photos which were to be worn at all times inside the commissary—blue ones for staff with clearances, white for those without, white with a black 'V' for contractors, nannies, teachers etc. The local staff was issued pink ones, which seemed rather redundant since they were no longer allowed into the main building anyway.

It meant that the charwomen, usually chaperoned by the Marines while doing the cleaning inside the building, were banned too, leaving the secretaries and other junior staff with the additional task of cleaning their own and their bosses' offices. The Marines were also put in charge of changing the light bulbs and of other small manual tasks until the State Department would figure out how to handle the staffing of some of the low-level jobs previously performed by locals.

Tanya, the CAO's local team assistant, had moved to the two-story building across the courtyard along with the local staff of the consular section. The youngest member of the CAO's staff, Todd, had been moved up from the ground floor to share the office with Glen and Jack. With the three of them crammed into a tiny office, the partitions between the desks were removed and it became rather tricky for Jack to do his non-cultural type of reporting.

The good thing about Moscow Stations' new, tightened security, at least as far as Jack was concerned, was that reporting was now limited to the minimum. All sensitive reporting had to be delivered in person by senior officers, either in Washington or at another secure location on that side of the Iron Curtain. And there were to be no briefings on classified matters in the Tank, nor in cable communication with the HQ — especially not regarding agents and potential agents.

Therefore, all Jack's reports were now pretty general in nature, like those of someone with a regular Embassy job, and he didn't have to discuss his every action with Marat or William. His 'sensitive' reporting was now reduced to a few handwritten notes and requests that were quickly and wordlessly reviewed and approved by William in his office.

The end of February also saw heightened focus and reporting activities at the Embassy as the staff of all sections were busy covering the 27th Congress of the Communist Party of the USSR. It opened on February 25th—the 30th anniversary of Khrushchev's historic speech to the 20th Party Congress denouncing Josef Stalin. Those who had been speculating whether this was by design or chance, scrutinized and dissected the five-hour opening speech delivered by the youthful Gorbachev, himself one of the so-called generation of the 'children of the 20th Congress' to whom Stalin had ceased to be the 'Father of the Nations' from those days in 1956. It seemed to the Embassy staff that, besides implementing security measures, they were spending all their time collecting, analyzing and transmitting information about the Soviet Communist Party Congress to their respective HQs in the US.

...

In the first days of March, two other events hijacked the conversations at Uncle Sam's and kept the crowd talking for some time.

The first was the assassination of Olof Palme, the Swedish Prime Minister. He was shot on a snowy sidewalk in downtown Stockholm as he and his wife were returning home from a movie. As was his frequent practice, and one of which he was proud, Mr. Palme had declined to be accompanied by his bodyguards that evening. It was the first political assassination in the history of modern Sweden and it shook the Northern European country to its core. And maybe not only Sweden.

The second event was the start of The Great Peace March for Global Nuclear Disarmament in Los Angeles. The plan had been to assemble 5000 marchers, who would cross the country and reach Washington DC by 15th November, to raise awareness of the growing danger of nuclear proliferation and to advocate for the complete elimination of nuclear weapons from the earth.

The rally was a brainchild of one David Mixner, a prominent political activist and fundraiser from California. It was a grandiose idea disastrously executed by Mixner's non-profit organization, PRO-Peace, which had been setup for that purpose. It was supposed to raise $21 million, organize a free rock concert send-off at LA's Coliseum, obtain corporate sponsorships and produce documentaries. It managed to rally less than 30 percent of intended participation and then went bankrupt barely a week into the march.

The march provoked plenty of talk at lunch time, of course, and prompted Jack to muse over Ennis's response when he'd said he wished things had been different for the likes of them. "But there's another way _for you_, isn't there?" Ennis had asked, his tone full of hope.

Jack had heard about David Mixner and his political campaigns during his years at Cal State—but then who hadn't in California's gay community? He was just one of their members who was 'out', prominent _and_ successful.

Ok, so maybe he should at least consider that impossible idea that Ennis inadvertently had planted in his mind with his question… Maybe later, not now… And maybe he should tell Ennis about Mixner, sometime… And about Harvey Milk5 and Rock Hudson. About West Hollywood, the first city in America to elect a city council where a majority of the members were openly gay or lesbian. And about his friends from Cal State, Tommy Horowitz and Cruz—the sunny and positive Cruz who had kept appearances only for the sake of his closeted lover… Jack had wondered sometimes what had happened to them after he had moved to Washington and they'd lost contact …

Right, he should find the time and a place where they could talk: Ennis had said he needed to talk to someone—to Jack—sometimes, hadn't he? So they would talk about life of gay folks in California, if that was what Ennis wanted to know; about AIDS and also about choices guys like them had in America. Because even though they were hard choices, guys like Ennis in this goddamn country didn't even have them!

* * *

A/N:

1. **Viktor Tsoi** (1962-90), the leader/singer of the rock band **Kino**, is regarded as one of the pioneers of Russian rock and has many devoted fans across the countries of the former Soviet Union even today. Few musicians in the history of Russian music have been more popular or have had more impact on their genre than Viktor and his band (from Wikipedia).

2. Born Joanna Fields in 1960 in LA, **Joanna Stingray** is an American singer, actress, music producer and socialite. She was a key figure in popularizing Soviet and post-Soviet rock music and culture in the West. In 1987 she married Yuri Kasparyan, Kino's guitarist. They divorced a few years later.

"Red Wave' is the album Joanna published in America, comprising of select songs of 4 Russian rock bands she had smuggled out of the Soviet Union on home recorded tapes. (from Wikipedia).

3. **Boris Grebenshchikov (**known as **BG** ) is widely considered the "founding father" of Russian rock music. Due as much to his personal contribution as to the undisputed and lasting success of his main effort, the band Aquarium (active since 1972 until today), he is a household name in Russia (from Wikipedia).

4. Born in 1948 in the SU** Anatoly ****Shcharansky** (now **Natan Sharansky**) is an Israeli politician, human rights activist and author. In 1973 the Soviet authorities denied him an exit visa to Israel. He became a human rights activist and spokesperson for the Moscow Helsinki Group and one of the founders of the Refusenik movement in Moscow. In 1977 he was arrested on charges of spying for the US and treason and sentenced to 13 years of forced labor a Siberian labor camp. As a result of an international campaign led by his wife, in 1986 Sharansky and three low-level Western spies were exchanged for 5 Soviet bloc spies held in the USA and West Germany. Sharansky was the first political prisoner ever released by Mikhail Gorbachev. He never spied for the US (from Wikipedia).

5. **Harvey Bernard Milk** (May 22, 1930 – November 27, 1978) was an American politician who became the first openly gay person to be elected to public office in California when he won a seat on the San Francisco Board of Supervisors (from Wikipedia).

6. All events at the Embassy happened in real life as as described in this chapter during this time.

* * *

_Soundtrack: California Dreaming, by Shaw Blades_


	22. Chapter 22

- 22 -

Jack suspected that the Moscow Station was preparing for an operation. William had been staying at work very late for the last two weeks, but delegating most of his overt line affairs to Jack and Glen, including the finalization of the Addendum to the Soviet-American Cultural Exchange Agreement that had been signed at the summit in Geneva the previous year. On a few occasions, Jack had also spotted the cars belonging to his boss and two other case officers parked inside on the Embassy grounds when he was leaving Uncle Sam's late at night. Usually folks who didn't live in the commissary building parked their cars on the streets nearby.

His suspicions were confirmed two days before the signing ceremony of the addendum in Kremlin.

William called Jack to his office first thing in the morning and told him that he was being tasked with taking Tanya, their team assistant, to shop for presents for wives and daughters of their Soviet counterparts on the occasion of International Women's Day, which the Sov's called Day of March 8th , in three days. Oh, and since Jack's car was grounded he could use William's big, midnight blue Ford. The sheet of paper William had put in front of him instructed Jack to run the car around town for as long as possible and to do whatever was asked of him that day without questioning orders.

So it was probably a bren, Jack figured, a brief meeting with an agent, if Nurimbekoff was pulling all available hands on deck. He wondered who was going to meet with the agent and why William's car was to be 'flashed' to the KGB. It couldn't really be William, could it? The man barely spoke any Russian and the Agency didn't assign case officers who didn't speak the agents' language to run them. Unless the agents spoke good English, like the KGB or diplomatic staff stationed in America. Or MEDIATOR, an official at the Institute of the USA and Canada in Moscow, a Soviet think-tank specializing in research on _everything_ American and Canadian.

Since the signing of the Cultural Exchange Agreement, William and Glen, and lately Jack as well, had been working their socks off to arrive at an agreement with the Ministry of Culture on the list of exchange activities that would go into the Addendum, which the Sovs wanted to sign around the 27th Party Congress dates. So now it was happening, on the day after the closing of the Congress at the Government offices inside the Kremlin.

The Kremlin. For decades it had been true to its name—a fortress1: hardly any foreigner had put their foot inside its grounds. Things had changed since Gorbachev became its commander. As far as Jack knew, the Addendum would be the third Soviet-American agreement to be signed within the Kremlin walls. The Secretary General had even invited Secretary of State Schultz for a meeting at his office there during Schultz's pre-summit visit to Moscow, but the American had turned downed the chance to visit the very heart of the Soviet empire.

It took them exactly seven minutes to get from the Embassy to Red Square, then through the Borovitskaya Tower entrance on the west side of the Kremlin to the Soviet the Council of Ministers Building. Jack rode in the last car with Glenn, both of them outwardly subdued yet each feeling awe and excitement at entering the fortress for the first time. The three American cars, led by Ambassador Hart's bulletproof limousine, stopped at the steps of an ornate yellow building with white columns dating back to the reign of Catherine the Great. They were met by the Commandant of the Kremlin, who was accompanied by an interpreter and two stern-looking security men, and led up the large marble staircase to a grand room the second floor. Deputy Minister Novikov and an entourage of a dozen of unsmiling men were already awaiting the Americans in the lavishly adorned, gold, red and white meeting room. Novikov waited until Ambassador Hart had covered one third of floor before stepping forward to meet him, right in the middle of the large room, under a majestic, gilded chandelier. After a quick round of greetings and introductions, the signing ceremony ensued, at a table with two high-backed chairs, all draped in red and gold, with an official Kremlin photographer taking pictures. The signing over, everyone shook hands, exchanged some small talk, according to the protocol, and promised to see each other again at the reception later in the evening. Then the American delegation left.

The whole trip to the Kremlin took less than an hour and they were back at the Embassy just before noon. After shaking hands with and receiving thanks from Ambassador Hart, William hurried back to his office. Jack dragged Glenn, Tanya and Todd down to Uncle Sam's for an early lunch and a round of beers. Todd and Tanya, who hadn't attended the signing ceremony, wanted to hear everything about short trip to the Kremlin. Even they felt both high with the sense of accomplishment and a little deflated by the brevity of the event, for which they had been staying in the office late for the past two months.

In the evening, the same cortege left the Embassy for the Kremlin Palace of Congresses, a Khrushchev-era steel and glass monolith erected just inside the Kremlin's eastern wall. The reception hosted by Deputy Minister Novikov was held in one of the Palace's six hundred private function rooms and featured an odd mixture of representatives of the Soviet culture, including Bolshoi's prima ballerina Maya Plisetskaya, internationally acclaimed and dangerously outspoken poet Andrei Voznesensky, and the popular Soviet actor and director Nikita Mikhalkov, whose brother had 'left to the West' in 1980 after being awarded the title of the People's Artist.

Jack noticed Lara as soon as he entered the banquet room. She was standing next to her father, wearing a emerald-green satin dress with black velvet bodice, and barely managing to hide an expression of boredom behind her polite smile, as though attending Kremlin receptions was a chore she had to do every day. Her face lit up when she caught sight of Jack at the end of the American delegation. She beamed at him but didn't leave her father's side. However, when everyone took their assigned places around the long table, Jack found himself seated next to her.

"Jack! Finally!"

"Good evening, Lara. You look gorgeous, as ever." He squeezed her fingers politely.

"Thank you, _daragusha,_" she sighed contentedly, smiling fondly at Jack. "I thought you were mad at me for not showing up at the New Year night at Vera Mikhailovna's. But then Ennis mentioned that you were away. Where have you been, Jack?"

"I was a little upset, yes—I waited for you the whole evening. Then I was seconded for a month to our Embassy in Berlin. But I'm so glad to see you, Lara!"

She beamed, though with an air of entitlement. "East or West Berlin? I was in East Berlin last summer. Germans are so… liberated, aren't they? I've been to the most amazing and, ah, _naturalistic_ play there. By an experimental theatre," she explained when she saw Jack's raised eyebrows. "By the way, I'll be playing in a new musical that Viktor Viktorovich is staging. No, not 'Cabaret'. This one is _very_ special. But I can't tell you more just yet." She looked at once thrilled and conspiratorial. "Only thatEnnis has agreed to write some rock songs for it!"

"Has he?"

The news rubbed Jack the wrong way. Why hadn't he mentioned anything about it last few times they talked? And he'd thought Ennis didn't like Karelin.

"Yes. Can you imagine that? I think it's because of the Wings. It's sad, isn't it?"

"What is sad, Lara? Sorry, you've lost me."

"Oh, so you don't know? When did you see Ennis last time?"

"Why?" Jack asked suspiciously. "I haven't heard from him for a while. What happened?" Suddenly, he felt anxious.

Lara bit her lower lip for a second, like she was not sure if she was supposed tell him this. "Oh, well, so Ennis and Seva have fallen out and… Well, I think there are no Wings anymore…" she sighed.

"What?! I thought you said they were best friends. What happened?" And what about Ennis's plans to take part in the rock lab in Leningrad? He wanted to ask, but wasn't sure he was supposed to know about it.

Lara was thoughtful for a moment again, then said reluctantly, "I think it's about Anya. Poor Anya, she's trying her best to reconcile the boys. But I don't think it's working. I have no idea what's happened. Not one of them would tell me a word about it." She pouted, obviously upset about being left out.

Shit, he'd told Ennis he should go out with Anya, for appearances sake. Was it backfiring? Ennis hadn't told him anything about it when they talked on the phone a week ago. In truth, he hadn't mentioned the Wing's preparations for the rock lab in Leningrad either, while he'd seemed eager to tell Jack about it the few times they had chatted since Jack returned from Berlin.

Lara started to talk about her friends again, but just then her father stood up to make a toast, so they had to stop chatting and raise their glasses. Ten minutes later there was another toast, followed by yet more, most of them proposed by the Russian side, continuing through the four-course meal of no less than a dozen cold starters, three hot starters, three mains, four different types of cream cakes and ice cream for dessert. And all of that food was accompanied by free-flowing Champagne, vodka, bourbon whiskey and Spanish sherry.

They didn't manage to talk any more about Ennis and Seva. At nine-thirty, Ambassador Hart excused himself, citing a conference call with headquarters at 10:00 p.m., and after a round of handshakes, backslaps and even a few comradely embraces, the Americans departed. Jack quickly told Lara that he would call her the next morning, jovially instructed the young official sitting on the other side of her to take good care of her, and hurried to join his compatriots as they were leaving.

William waited for him at the door and told him he would drop him off at a Metro station downtown. In the car, he gave Jack instructions for the next day. He was to run William's Ford around town for as long and as late as possible; meeting up and going out with the locals would be good, too. He didn't explain why he had to do that, but Jack figured that the op run that the Moscow Station had been preparing for the last few weeks was finally taking place.

He called Ennis from the public phone in the Metro station and got and got his answering machine". Jack left him a message that he would probably see him at his mother's the next afternoon. He hoped Ennis would understand what he meant.

The next morning, Jack arrived at the Embassy early to pick up his boss's car. He called Lara and asked if he could come to her place around three o'clock in order to personally deliver flowers and presents for her and Darija Antipovna on the occasion of International Women's Day. After a short consultation with her mother, Lara came back on the line and told him, a bit breathlessly, that he could come at three o'clock. She sounded, like she couldn't wait to see Jack again.

He hesitated, then asked her to do him a favor. Would she check with Vera Mikhailovna and Anya to see if it was okay for him to drop by their places with the flowers, too? Lara enthusiastically agreed and assured him that Vera Mikhailovna and Anya would be very pleased.

Next he called Stella and told her he'd be tied up most of the day, but could catch up with her for lunch, if she had no other plans. She bitched that he never had enough time for her, but in the end they agreed to a lunch at the trendy but hideously expensive restaurant at Hotel Kosmos.

Jack passed the whole morning shopping at a handful of duty free shops around town, spending a small fortune on more presents and flowers than strictly necessary, not only for his Russian friends and colleagues, but also for Stella, the wife of Uncle Sam's owner, Doctor Martha and a couple of other women at the Embassy.

After the two-hour lunch with Stella, at 3:00 p.m. he parked William's car across the street from Lara's place, noting the cream colored Lada as it passed by slowly. It had been on his tail since morning, alternating with a red one, neither of them trying to be discreet about their presence. He took all four plastic bags with presents and four bouquets of roses with him, hoping to use them as an excuse not to stay at Lara's long, and headed toward the edifice where they lived. He had no doubt the organs would find out fast enough who he'd been visiting—with presents and flowers—in these _nomenclatura_ dwellings. But that shouldn't be a big problem for these people, he reckoned.

He had only taken two steps through the arched gateway of the turn-of-the-century building when a man appeared a dozen steps in front of him, heading out into the street. It was Karelin.

The gateway was not large enough for him to pretend he hadn't noticed the Russian director, so Jack stopped.

"Why, Jack. Greetings. How are you?"

Karelin was wearing a black overcoat and a long, bright orange and black woolen scarf wound up around his neck. He looked disheveled and haggard, with dark circles under his heavy-lidded eyes.

"Good day, Viktor Viktorovich. Thank you, I'm fine. Yourself?"

"Coping, Jack, coping. Thank you. You can call me Viktor."

"Viktor," Jack nodded formally, pleased that both of his hands were occupied with presents and flowers.

The Russian watched Jack closely, offering him a half-smile. "I haven't seen you for a long time. Since the Youth Festival, isn't it?" The man was obviously in the mood for a little conversation.

"I think so," Jack responded vaguely. He'd never thought the Russian paid him much heed. What had changed, then?

"I didn't know you were a friend of Amanda's," he said thoughtfully, his light brown, almost amber-colored eyes studying Jack.

That put Jack immediately on guard. "I didn't know that you were, either."

Was it possible that he was with the KGB? Why not? Semi-openly gay, controversial… Unhealthy skin tone. Alcohol or drugs. Maybe even both. Yep, easily recruitable material.

"She was brilliant. A brave woman. I miss her company..." He trailed off, leaving Jack wondering what he really meant but not caring to ask. "So, Jack, you're going to Lara's place?" Karelin indicated the flowers with his eyes and brows. "I'm just from there. She's anxiously awaiting you. You're a lucky man to have such fine women vying for your attention."

"Thank you, Viktor. But I think they love you more than me. I'm just another guy. You, on the other hand, are their god." He made a great effort to sound sincere.

The other man let out a quick laugh. "You _are_ courteous, aren't you? Just like Lara says. She's rather fond of you, that girl."

"Thank you. I like her a lot, too." He wished the Russian was done and gone already.

"But you like others, too, hmm?" Karelin raised his eyebrows at the four bouquets of flowers in Jack's hand. "That can't be all for Lara and her mother on Women's day, can it?"

"No, they're also for her… _my_ friends."

"Of course! Hmm, Anya and…" He looked at Jack quizzically.

"Vera Mikhailovna, Prof. Volkonsky's daughter." They would know eventually anyway, so hiding it might only make them wonder why.

"Vera Mikhailovna?" Viktor stared at him wide-eyed, his smile slowly fading.

_Bah, what's wrong with that now_? "Yes, she was kind enough to invite me to her home for the New Year's Eve dinner." They surely knew that already. "An amazing woman. So yes, you're quite right, I'm very lucky to know all these wonderful women."

"And Ennis Volkonsky, you're friends with him too?" The scrawny Russian sounded like he was trying to solve a puzzle as he spoke.

_Shit._ "Yes, I am, in fact. And with his friends from the University, too. And with his band. Hope there's nothing wrong with _that._" He tried not to sound challenging, just firm.

"No…" Viktor continued gazing straight into Jack's eyes, shaking his head thoughtfully. "No, nothing's wrong, Jack. You're indeed a very lucky person to have so many friends… who like you."

Controlling the urge to snap, 'what does _that_ mean', Jack grinned amiably at the Russian. "I hope so, for I really like them all. I never thought I'd find such good, sincere friends here. Hope I'll see you amongst my friends one day, too." He bent his head slightly and stretched his smile wider. "But I really must go now. We can't have Lara and her mother waiting, can we? Good day, Viktor. I'll see you again."

"Yes, of course," Karelin said brightly, as though he had just come back to his senses. "Till the next meeting, Jack. Soon."

Jack took a step aside, nodded his goodbye again and hurried into the courtyard. He didn't hear footsteps heading in the opposite direction, but didn't turn to see what Lara's teacher and director was doing. Whatever it was, Jack knew he wouldn't like it.

...

Lara was ready to launch herself at him the moment the door opened and only the flowers and presents in Jack's hands prevented her from doing so. A minute later her mother appeared in the doorway, and the two of them spent the next five minutes cooing over Jack—how attentive he was, how sweet, such a gentlemen. After Jack's formal congratulations and then lighthearted wishes on the occasion of the March 8th Day, they insisted that he come in for tea. He could see a _samovar_ and fine china on the table laid out in the middle of the spacious white and cream sitting room. He apologized profusely, saying that he had been tasked with delivering flowers and presents to several other women—the wives of very important counterparts of his office, Jack quickly added, seeing Lara's pout. He promised to call her the next day again, maybe they could even go out—if his boss didn't ask him to run more errands on the occasion of Women's Day.

Then, already one foot out of the door, he turned around and asked her sheepishly if she could help him out and pass the flowers and a present to Anya—he was behind schedule. When she agreed to do so, he flashed his teeth and dimples at her and inwardly sighed with relief. She was a sweetheart, he told her, then kissed her on the cheek and scurried towards the stairs.

...

Jack paused and took a deep breath before ringing the bell on Volkonskys' door. The sound of approaching quick footsteps set off a cloud of butterflies in his stomach. The door swung open and Ennis beamed at him, his smile wide and warm. God, he shouldn't really be smiling that way at Jack if all they could do today was having a quick chat.

"_Privet_." Ennis thrust his hand out.

Jack shifted the flowers into the other hand and grabbed the offered hand. "_Privet_, Ennis. Glad you've managed to come." He grinned back at him, trying to control his smile and heartbeat.

"Lara called. Said you'd come to, uh, congratulate my mother for March 8th Day. Come in, please." He stepped aside, let Jack in, then turned his head and called, "Mama, Jack's here to see you."

"Ennis, can we talk afterwards?" Jack whispered urgently, touching his arm.

"Yes." Ennis nodded and exhaled sharply, like he'd been holding his breath for ages.

Vera Mikhailovna appeared in the door of the sitting room, wearing an elegant, brown knitted dress, her hair carefully coiffed.

"Good day, Jack. It's so gracious of you to drop by with congratulations." She smiled kindly at him and gave him her hand.

Jack kissed it, then presented her with flowers and the bag with a big box of Lindt chocolate. "My best wishes on the Day of March 8th, Vera Mikhailovna. I hope I'm not imposing on you. I've dropped in just for a minute." He cut a quick glance at Ennis who was standing behind her.

"Not at all, Jack. Please come in. And thank you so much for the flowers. I love roses!" She brought the bouquet up her face and inhaled, contented, not even looking at the present in her other hand.

"I'm glad… Um, will you forgive me, Vera Mikhailovna, if I only stay for fifteen minutes?" Jack asked, with an apologetic smile. "I've got an engagement I can't miss."

"We're about to sit down for tea. Please take off your coat and come in. Ennis, get Jack a pair of slippers, please. It won't be a minute, Jack." She smiled at him encouragingly and headed toward the kitchen, calling out to the house helper as she went, "Varvara Petrovna, please call Father and let's have tea."

The Volkonskys finally let him go after thirty minutes, two cups of teas with three types of fruit preserves and a slice of cake, and only after he had promised to come back for lunch on another Sunday that month. Ennis said he would see Jack off and have a smoke outside, and at last they were out and on the other side of the closed door.

Jack pointed to the staircase with his chin and Ennis nodded. They descended to the second floor and parked themselves at the large window looking out into the inner courtyard.

Jack pulled out his cigarettes, lighted one and gave it to Ennis. "How's everything? Good?"

Ennis took the cigarette, careful not to touch Jack's fingers. "Yes, fine. Thanks. And you?" he muttered distractedly, his eyes averted.

"I'm good, I'm good. Thank you." Jack replied automatically. But when Ennis continued to stare out the window, he said his friend's name softly.

Ennis turned his head slowly and finally met Jack's gaze. His eyes were full of pain and remorse.

"I talked to Lara yesterday, at a reception," Jack said. "She mentioned that you guys were not going to take part in the rock lab in Leningrad. What happened? Weren't you and Seva taking special music classes to prepare for it?"

Ennis bit his lip and looked away for a moment, then turned to Jack again and sighed. "Yes, we were. But now we are not going." He handed the cigarette back to Jack.

"Why? I thought you wanted to? Well, unless you've changed your mind of course…"

"Seva's left the Wings." Ennis said flatly, clearly not intending to provide further details. But seeing a silent query in Jack's eyes, he sighed and admitted resignedly, "We've quarreled."

"Right… Listen, I might not be the best person to help… In fact I might even be the worst person to help you in this situation. But if you need to talk…"

He felt responsible for his friend's falling out—after all, it was he who had advised Ennis to date Anya, wasn't it? On the other hand, he didn't want to embarrass Ennis by revealing that he knew from Lara that the quarrel seemed to be about Anya. If Ennis wanted to confide in him, he would tell Jack himself.

"Seva thinks that I'm cheating on Anya with, uh, some other girl," Ennis blurted out in his usual blunt manner.

"Oh… Right…" The resentment that flared in his gut caught Jack by surprise. "Are you?" _Oh, c'mon, Twist! This is not about you!_

"No!" Ennis shook his head vigorously, his eyes now full of concern. "I'm not cheating on… on _anyone_! No… I wanted us, the Wings, to perform the song, the one I gave you, in Leningrad. But I wanted people to think it was about some girl with … uh, blue eyes." Color started spreading over his ears and forehead. "So I invited Natasha for a coffee and, uh, drove her home… That's all." He peered in Jack's eyes. "Sevka's bought it. I mean, the lyrics and, uh, Natasha…" Ennis sighed, turned to stare through the window. "He cares for Anya. A lot."

The song Ennis had given him as a birthday present… 'And I want to drown in the bluest of the blue/The color of your eyes.' _Oh, Christ!_

"Ennis, you should be more careful, bud. You can't—"

"It's part of your birthday present."

"Yes, I know." He offered the cigarette to his friend, briefly pressing his fingers into Ennis's. "I'm touched, Ennis, I truly am, but—"

"I'm going to sing it anyway. At the next festival," he declared stubbornly. "I've asked Artyom, uh, a friend, to introduce a new drummer to us."

"Right… What about you and Seva? And Anya?"

Ennis took the last drag on the cigarette and dropped it in the old coffee tin half full with cigarette butts on the windowsill.

"I'm, uh, I haven't seen Anya lately… Sevka will take good care of her, I'm sure."

"You've broken off with her, too? Ennis, they're your childhood friends!"

"It's better that way." Ennis smiled weakly, his eyes sad. "They'll be better off without me. They suit each other better." Then, seeing a worried look on Jack's face, he quickly added, "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. This way it's actually easier for me to, uh, date girls." He chuckled humorlessly.

"I'm so sorry, Ennis."

What else could he say? He felt hopeless, useless, not being able to help or advise his friend in any way—his best, his only friend for whom he truly cared.

Whose life he wasn't a part of.

Whose life he'd been screwing up slowly and surely.

"Please don't be. It's not your fault that I'm, uh, like this… But in a way I'm glad that I am like _this_." Ennis's crooked little smile widened a fraction and he hit Jack's shoulder lightly with his fist. "Perhaps it's fate. I never believed in fate. Until now."

"I wish I had some good advice to offer. I don't know… I feel so fucking useless." And guilty as shit, too.

"Will you come to see me… _us_ perform at the rock festival?" Ennis asked hesitantly, his tone hopeful.

"I'll try…" _Is_ _that all you gonna do—try_? "I will, Ennis, yes. You'll have to let me know when as early as possible. I'll need to get a travel permit."

"May 30, Leningrad. I'll include _your_ song in the numbers we'll be performing there." He looked almost contented and it made Jack's heart squeeze.

"I'll be there, bud." Jack repeated his earlier gesture, bumping his fist against Ennis's shoulder, but he let his hand linger into the touch. "I'll make damn sure that I will."

* * *

A/N:

1 'Kremlin' was literally a 'castle' or 'fortress', the type found in many ancient Russian cities

* * *

_Soundtrack: Love Will Keep Us Alive, by The Eagles_


	23. Chapter 23

- 23 -

As he had promised, Jack called Lara early on Sunday morning to ask her out for lunch and a movie. His car was still grounded, he explained apologetically, and he'd have to return the borrowed car before 5:00 p.m. It wasn't exactly accurate, but four hours was all he was prepared to give. Especially because of the grim expression on Ennis's face the day before when Jack had mentioned that he'd promised to take Lara out. For lunch, he'd hastened to add.

In any case, she happily accepted his invitation, and at noon sharp Jack picked her up in front of her apartment block. He took her to the restaurant at the mammoth Hotel _Rossiya_ overlooking the Red Square, where they had been once before. During lunch they talked about Lara's plan to join Lenkom Theatre to act in 'Juno and Avos' opposite Nikolai Karachentsov, as well as in Russian classic drama films by Nikita Mikhalkov. She seemed to have little doubt that that was exactly what she was going to do in a year. When Jack inquired about Karelin's experimental studio, her pretty face clouded. She sighed and said that she would try to help him as much as she could, but even she couldn't help much because Viktor Viktorovich was so stubborn and wouldn't compromise his views and principles one iota. Jack tried to get more out of her, but for once Lara was tight-lipped.

After lunch they went to see 'Tootsie' in the cinema theatre on the ground floor of the hotel. Again, she held on to his hand through the film but didn't attempt anything more than that. Jack took her home afterwards. They agreed to do it again soon, exchanged a friendly goodbye kiss and Jack left.

On his way back to the Embassy, Jack pondered the fact that he'd yet to see the two Ladas that had been tailing him the past couple of days. Maybe they'd decided that Jack was a harmless gadabout. Or maybe they figured that the Moscow Station's ops run had already transpired the day before and they could have a break. Jack was pretty sure that the KGB always knew when something was up at the Moscow Station. The trick for its case officers was to pull that 'something' off without being caught.

As Jack was parking his boss's car, he noticed that there were more cars on the side street than usual for a Sunday afternoon. More uniformed _militzia_ as well as plain-clothed characters were positioned fairly obviously around the perimeter of the Embassy. He tried to ignore the chill that ran down his spine as he strolled nonchalantly to the back gate. The _militzia_ man standing by the side of the gate gave him a hard stare but didn't ask for his identification.

"Hey, Frank. What's up? Are we having a party today?" Jack flashed his teeth and his ID pass at the young marine in the booth inside the gate.

"Jack. You're late for the main show, man. Not sure you'll like it, though." Frank's expression was an odd mixture of alarm, curiosity and suspicion.

_Christ, no! It can't be!_ _Not again!_ "Yeah? Surprise me!" He grinned, playing up the excitement, and pushed through the narrow revolving gate.

"Your boss was detained last night. By the KGB."

"_What_?! You're fuckin' kidding me, right?"

Frank shrugged, his tone grim. "Told you you wouldn't like it."

"But he's a fuckin' CAO, for Christ's sake? Why would the KGB detain him?" Jack exclaimed louder than absolutely necessary, knowing that he would be heard from the street.

"You askin' me? He's _your_ boss, man, not mine." The marine's expression turned suspicious again. "You sure that's all he was—a CAO?"

"Jesus, who the fuck knows anything here anymore!" He threw his hands in the air, his bewilderment and frustration real this time. "I'd better go and find out. Thanks for warning me."

"No prob, man… See you at the club later?" Frank called after the quickly departing Jack.

Without slowing down, Jack tossed back, "Maybe. We'll see," and headed toward Uncle Sam's.

He spent the next few hours at the diner where he was the center of the attention. Each new person to arrive asked Jack if he'd known anything about his boss that could have gotten William Osbourne III in trouble with the Sovs. Spying, for instance. Because everybody knew that had it been something else, such as women or illegal currency exchange, they would have merely created a scandal. They wouldn't have brought him to _Lubianka _prison at the KGB headquarters, from where he had been brought back by the consular officer at 2:30a.m. that morning.

By 9:00 p.m., and after five consolation beers that various people bought him, Jack was beat. He wished he could go home, down a double shot of JD and crash. Instead, he excused himself, said he'd be back and headed to the main building.

Grant and Charlie at the metal door on the ninth floor were curious too, but a bit more sympathetic, so he chatted with them for five minutes, then descended to his floor.

He didn't turn on the light in the office, but left the door ajar. He sat at his desk for a few minutes, collecting his thoughts.

So now the count was seven in nine months. And the agent rolled-up this time was probably the civilian specialist who worked—_had worked!_—at the Institute of America and Canada. Seven lost agents in nine months plus two ambushed case officers! Again, that was not counting the two agents that had come in from the cold and two rolled up non-human assets. Worse still, this time it was Jack's direct boss who had been busted. Jack was pretty sure he would have to shoulder some of the consequences; he just didn't know what they were yet. He prayed that his deep cover would remain intact. Not that Ennis and his friends would know; but still, Jack preferred that _nobody_ in Moscow knew about his real occupation besides the Moscow Station Chief, if that was at all possible.

Jack sighed, reached for the phone and dialed an internal number he knew by heart.

"Speaking." The man's voice was deceptively calm and leisurely, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened the previous night.

Jack pitched his voice low and said hesitantly, "Good evening, sir. This is Redmond. I'm calling to confirm our meeting tomorrow…"

"Redmond? Oh, yes. Thanks for calling. In fact, I was thinking maybe we should catch up today. Are you calling on the internal line?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I'll see you in twenty minutes. Your place?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent. See you in a bit." And the line went dead.

Jack put down the receiver and opened the right bottom drawer of his desk. He fumbled deep inside, pulled out a small flashlight, got up and went to the door. He locked the door, switched on the light, pointing it at the floor, and returned to his desk to wait for the Moscow Station Chief.

Twenty minutes later there was a light tap on the door of Jack's office. When Jack opened it, Nurimbekoff didn't come in; instead, he nodded his head towards William's office. He unlocked the door with his key and closed it softly behind them. He turned around and headed stealthily toward the little dark room on the right, opened it with another key.

"Come in here," he whispered. "And keep it down."

Once they were inside, Nurimbekoff closed the door and switched on the light.

"It's relatively secure in here," he murmured softly. "Sit down, Jack. It's good that you called in."

"I've brought back _his_ car and… just learned…" He wasn't sure what else to say.

The Station chief sighed. "Yeah. It seems we've got ourselves a problem here. I'm flying back to the HQ tomorrow night and need you to put everything on hold. I mean _everything_."

"Yes, sir."

"There'll be staff briefings at the Ambassador's residence tomorrow. You and the rest of the USIA staff will be under a lot of pressure. Play dumb. And loud. Unfortunately, we have neither the time nor facilities to go through details, but I hope you know what to do. You've been doing a pretty good job so far."

"Thank you, sir."

"Marat is fine."

"Okay, Marat. What if my contacts ask about _him_?"

"Hopefully they won't—it probably won't be announced in the press for a few days. Then make yourself scarce. At least till I'm back."

"Yes, sir. Marat. What about the NW exchange program itself? And the parties to it?"

"We'll have to do some damage control. But that's not for you to worry about. Your agency will send a new CAO. Don't think we'll be able to use this slot from now on, though. We'll need to decide how to manage you. In any case, we should have a clear picture in a week time. In the meantime, here's Mark Morris's number, for code red type situations." Nurimbekoff produced a scrap of paper from his pocket and handed to Jack.

Mark Morris was the new Deputy Station Chief who had arrived last September.

Jack took the slip of paper. "Does he know about me?"

"He knows the Station's headcount, not you personally. But he'll know when—_if_ you call."

Jack nodded, trying not to let his relief show. "Code word?"

"Redmond… Now, the car. You'll be asked about it tomorrow. Make some noise. Look for _him_, try to return the keys. Complain when you can't. Give it to the security office in a couple of days. Anything else?"

"May I ask... what happened?"

"Ambush," Nurimbekoff sighed.

"On an op run?"

"Yes."

"When is he leaving?"

"In two days."

"What do I do when I see him?"

"You won't. Not here. Don't stay late in the office, though."

"Yesss, okay."

"The number." Nurimbekoff indicated the slip of paper with the phone number in Jack's hand.

"Oh, right."

Jack ran through the number twice, then closed his eyes trying to memorize it. After a minute he opened his eyes and handed the scrap back to the Station chief.

"Good. Now you can go and spend some quality time at the Marines Club," Nurimbekoff concluded softly, but his eyes were serious: he was not joking.

...

As expected, Monday started with a series of briefings at the Ambassador's residence, Spaso House, which continued through Tuesday on account of the large number of staff, visiting missions and other American citizens who happened to be in town and wished to come for the briefings.

Ambassador Hart summoned Jack and his two USIA colleagues just before lunch and briefed them on the state of affairs with their boss, how they should behave and answer questions about William Osbourne. He also reminded them of the policy of no fraternization with locals, and added that social involvements should not lead to emotional ones. While he was delivering his little speech, the Ambassador looked as though he knew it was excessive but it was something he had to do.

They all nodded and mumbled 'yes, sir', and Jack asked warily if that was what had actually happened—that William had become emotionally involved with someone? He silently thanked all gods that the concerned expression on his face looked appropriate for the situation and that the others couldn't see that a cold sweat that had broken out under his arms.

Ambassador Hart gave him an evasive, long-winded answer, then let them go quickly before more questions could be asked.

Jack was also called to Don Steward's office, where the head of security asked him about William's car and what Jack had done during the past two days. Jack played dumb and loud like he'd been told and handed over his boss's car key to Don, who gave him another no-fraternization-with-locals lecture before letting him go.

William Osbourne's detention wasn't the only spy-related news of the day: the Monday morning issues of most mainstream American newspapers front-paged Reagan administration's announcement of its decision to cut one third of the Soviet contingent at the United Nations—as part of its anti-espionage program, according to the press release. Most people, however, didn't link the two episodes together, since the reasons for William's detention by the Sovs was made public only on Thursday.

So most of the week Glenn, Todd and Jack were the center of attention and had to endure a steady stream of nosy questions every time they appeared in public. For Jack it meant every day before work, during lunchtime and after work until midnight. The topic most talked about, and which Jack dreaded most, was the fact that William had lent his car to him. Nevertheless, he managed to be the most active participant in the speculations on the subject of his boss. AS a result, by Thursday evening, when the Sovs finally announced the incident on the national news program _Vremya_, he had used up all of his reserve of patience and good-natured banter and felt completely drained.

On Friday morning, all Soviet dailies as well as all foreign major newspapers carried or quoted TASS's official statement, which announced that the Cultural Affairs Officer, William Osbourne, had been detained in Moscow on Monday while conducting a clandestine meeting with a Soviet citizen recruited by U.S. intelligence. Further, the evidence found fully implicated him in 'intelligence-gathering activities incompatible with his official status' and that Osbourne had been ordered to leave the Soviet Union by Sunday, 16 March.

Jack braced himself for another wave of interest in the William Osbourne affair, and prayed that the day would end soon so that he could have a few drinks at the Club, then maybe a couple more at home after midnight. After that he'd disconnect the phone and just dig in and sleep for the whole weekend. Nurimbekoff was supposed to return on Monday and he hoped the Station Chief would bring back _some_ news, if not good news.

At half past four, Heather the librarian called him and asked if he could come down; she had news that she wanted to let him know first. _Christ, what else now_, he thought, but said 'Coming, sweetie-pie' with fake enthusiasm. It turned out that, due to the shortage of space at the commissary, the library was to be dismantled and therefore all the books were free for the taking, starting Monday. Jack was one of her three best friends at the Embassy; Heather wanted to share the news with them first in case they were interested in any particular books.

Jack spent over an hour in the tiny library in the basement room of the commissary building, trying to guess which books Ennis might be interested in if given a chance to choose. In the end he decided that the forty-volume set of Encyclopedia Britannica, which included five yearbooks and five volumes on science, would probably be it. Ennis was not only a terrific singer, he was also a scholar, right? Jack decided he would figure out how to deliver the present to him later.

After he'd packed the hefty volumes into three large carton boxes that Heather had also kindly supplied, he hugged her and called her sweetie-pie again, which always seemed to thrill her to no end. He owed her a dinner, he said, along with her husband, of course.

Nurimbekoff returned on Monday, but it wasn't until Wednesday night that Jack was summoned for a briefing—this time in the dark and empty room in the basement that had once housed the Embassy's library. When Jack asked why not the Tank, he was told that the safe room was being checked for security breaches. Which meant it had probably been bugged by the KGB. Jack recalled all the briefings he'd had with William and Marat in the Tank in the course of the past year. _Jesus Christ!_ But it wasn't like he could do a damn thing about it, except hold his breath and pray.

Nurimbekoff gave him a briefing in a hushed tone and Jack had to strain to hear what the head of Moscow Station was saying. Basically, it was the same story he had told Jack before his trip back to the headquarters: since it was decided to keep his deep cover intact for now, Jack was to report directly to Nurimbekoff and to keep _all_ development and reporting activities down until new structure and communication channels were in place at the Moscow Station. He would continue his work with the Soviet Nuclear Winter team as required within the USIA's exchange project, including preparations for the Soviet scientists to go to America in April. Jack would accompany them and then stay back for a couple of weeks on annual leave. By that time, the dust would hopefully have settled and the Station's case officers would be able to resume their work.

Then the Station chief instructed him on _their_ version of William Osbourne's expulsion: an affair with a local woman. On their last rendezvous, he had been ambushed by the KGB, which had tried to blackmail him into working for them. When William refused, they had taken him to _Lubianka_, forcibly stuffed compromising material into his briefcase and accused him of spying.

Of course there would be no official position about this case, but the rumor about William's extracurricular activities had already started circulating. Jack would learn about it fairly soon from the regulars at Uncle Sam's and was to actively participate in the 'discussions'. He could then communicate this version of the case—which effectively implied that the Soviet version of the events was a hoax—to his contacts. Ordinary Russians loathed the KGB, so his local contacts were more likely to believe the American version. This would keep William from being linked to the Agency, and Jack too, by association with him.

Now it was becoming clear where that 'no fraternization, no emotional involvements with locals' thing was coming from and why Ambassador Hart had looked uneasy preaching it.

"When are you meeting with your local exchange team?" Nurimbekoff asked when he was done with the instructions.

"I'm supposed to call them sometime next week."

"Make sure you've done a few rounds on the topic with your pals here before talking to them. It'll give you some practice. Sorry, we can't talk through the details here. You'll have to play it by ear."

"Will do… I think I still need to see them socially from time to time. It might look strange if I suddenly start avoiding them without cause," Jack reasoned and held his breath, hoping he sounded sufficiently businesslike.

Nurimbekoff thought for a moment. "Alright. But let the dust settle for a week or two. And don't try to pull anything with them. You'll have plenty of time later. Stick to _regular _socializing only."

Jack nodded. He hesitated, then said, trying to sound firm, "I got some books from this library. The Encyclopedia Britannica. I want to give it to them. As a present from me, you know."

The older man looked at Jack intently, deliberating. Finally, he nodded lightly. "Can't see why not. In fact, it might be a good idea. Let me know if you need any paperwork in relation to the books." He patted Jack on the shoulder and offered an encouraging smile. "You're doing a good job, son."

"I will. Thank you." Jack nodded, trying to suppress a grin of relief—he was cleared to see his friends, to see Ennis, without having to file reports on everything he did.

…

Jack could hardly wait till Saturday when he could call Ennis and propose they meet somewhere in town. He had little doubt that by now all his Russian contacts had either heard or read, or probably both, the news about William's detention and declaration as _persona non grata_. He wanted to deliver to him the American side of the story in person, even if he knew it was far from the truth. He just needed to see Ennis, to put his friend's mind at rest. He needed to hear the familiar 'don't worry' rumbled by the voice which could stir up a cloud of butterflies in his stomach just by remembering it.

On Saturday morning he got up before his 6:00 a.m. alarm, brushed his teeth, put on his running gear and shoes and left the apartment. The _militzia_ guard was not in his booth and Jack hoped he would not report on Jack's early exit at all.

He made a big loop to the south and east, then stopped to make a phone call when he was sure he was in the clear.

Ennis picked up on the fourth ring. "Alyo?"

His voice was sleep clogged, like he was talking into his pillow, and it made Jack smile.

"_Privet_, Ennis. It's me. Sorry to call so early, but I need to see you."

Ennis awakened at once. "You coming up?"

"No. I'm near my place. Jogging."

"Oh. Alright. When?"

"At nine?"

"Alright. Where?"

"Can you meet me inside Metro Station _Oktyabrskaya_, circle line, on the platform by the end of the train going to _Park Kultury_?"

"I'll be there."

"Great, see you there. Sorry again—"

"Don't worry. I'll see you at nine."

"Alright. Thank you." Jack couldn't hold back a smile as he hung up.

…

Moscow's Metro had to be the most beautiful example of modern architecture that Jack had ever seen. It easily rivaled any museum in Washington or New York. During the first few months after his arrival in Moscow, he had spent many weekends learning his way around the city by riding the Metro, wandering along its columned, frescos or mosaic-embellished stations, taking pictures, playing an awe-struck newcomer. Well, he hadn't really needed to play up—he had truly been in awe; and still was.

Sometimes Jack wished his compatriots back home could visit it, along with many other things he had discovered in this country and about its people during this last year. Maybe if Americans knew more about them, things would have been different. Easier, friendlier, more accepting—on both sides…

He took the most direct route to _Oktyabrskaya_ station. For whoever was watching him today, it was intended to be a quick catch-up with a local friend on the way to the Embassy. But it looked like he was in the clear again this morning.

As he alighted from the train, Jack spotted Ennis on the other end of the platform almost immediately. He was leaning against the marble wall, facing Jack's way.

When he noticed Jack hurrying toward him, his face didn't light up like the time Jack had visited the Volkonskys' place exactly three weeks earlier. Instead, he kept his impassive mask firmly in place. Jack couldn't remember when he'd last seen Ennis wearing it. But maybe it was a good thing too, so that nobody could see the way Ennis Del Mar Volkonsky smiled at him—like Jack Twist was the best thing ever. Jack would have given anything to see that smile on Ennis again, but this was neither the time nor the place for it.

"_Privet_, Ennis. Sorry I'm late. Have you been waiting long?" he asked as they were shaking hands.

"_Privet_. I've just arrived myself."

"Oh, good… I've brought you some tapes here." He took the tapes briefly out of the used plastic bag he'd been carrying, in case somebody was watching. "A couple of new movies." He put the tapes back in the bag and handed it to Ennis.

"Thanks." Ennis took the bag, looking at Jack quizzically. "We need to talk, right?"

"Right."

"About your boss."

"Yeah… But let's get ourselves somewhere quiet first."

"How much time do you have?" He asked matter-of-factly, but Jack noticed he'd bitten the inside of his lower lip.

"Not much. Sorry." Jack smiled weakly. "I have to be at the Embassy by eleven."

Ennis nodded faintly. "How about breakfast? There's a _blynnaya_ shop not far from the Metro station."

It wasn't exactly what Jack had planned—it hadn't yet been the two or three weeks Nurimbekoff had said he should wait… "Let's go."

They headed toward the escalator. Once on it, Jack turned around to face Ennis, who was standing on a lower step behind him.

"Did you call me?"

"Yes. But you weren't home."

"I thought you would. Sorry, I couldn't call you earlier. It's been a crazy couple of weeks."

Ennis's face softened a little. "It's fine. You've called." His lips twitched in the crooked little smile that Jack hadn't seen for some time now.

They reached the top of the escalator and exited onto the street. It was still early for a Saturday and there weren't many people out and about, braving the still wintery morning.

"Have you found a new drummer?"

"What? Oh, yes. Artyom has introduced him to us. He's from the conservatory—a professional percussionist. He's very good."

"So you're still going for it? I mean for the festival in Leningrad."

"Yes. You have to do at least _something_ you want, right?"

"Right." They walked in silence for a moment, then Jack asked again, "How are things with Anya and Seva?"

Ennis looked straight ahead of him, didn't respond right away. "They'll be fine. _Better_ without me." His tone was a tad too forceful, as if he was trying to convince himself about it, too.

"What about you?" Jack had never had childhood friends, but he didn't wish to know how losing them could feel.

Ennis turned to look at him. "I'm fine, Jack. Really. Please don't worry about me."

"Alright, then," he nodded, not quite believing it was as alright as they tried to sound.

There were only a taxi driver and an old couple who look like out-of-towners in the cafeteria.

They took two trays, waited for their pancakes to be made on a large stove with a black metal sheet over it, got their hot chocolate drinks, paid for the food and sat down at the far corner by the window. And for the whole time, they didn't exchange a word.

"Grandfather was called to the dean's office," Ennis broke the silence the moment they were settled. "He was questioned about William's connections to the exchange program. Grandfather says they're going to request an official statement from your Embassy. Or from your Information Agency."

"I'll call his office on Monday and arrange for a meeting… I'm sorry about all this, Ennis."

"It's not your fault… But what about you? Have you been questioned about him, too?"

"Yes, by the Embassy's security office." He hesitated for a moment, then added, "They told us we must not fraternize with locals… must not get _involved_ with locals. I suppose now I'm being watched more closely by your _organs_, as well," he concluded grimly and sighed.

"What has it to do with fraternizing with locals?" Ennis bristled, his brows knitted together.

"Well, they say that William had an affair with a local woman. That he got caught by the _organs,_ probably at her place. When he refused to cooperate with them, they accused him of espionage."

Ennis paled, bit on his lower lip, looking at Jack wide-eyed; the 'oh-shit' expression on his face made Jack want to kick himself hard. But then, that could happen to him, to them, too—if they caught him, right? Except that when blackmailed he was supposed to 'cooperate' with them. And what would happen to Ennis then? Jack didn't want to think about it. No, it shouldn't come to that! _He_ had to make sure it would never happen.

Ennis's thoughts had already gone in another direction. "Are you saying that the story carried by our newspapers wasn't true? He wasn't, uh, a spy?"

"I'm just telling you what everybody's talking about at the Embassy and what we've been told not to do by our security office."

"If that's true, why doesn't your Embassy issue a protest against such a crude lie?"

"I'm sure they have. They always do in such cases. Even when it isn't a lie." He shrugged and smirked gloomily. "Politics, you know."

Ennis watched him intently for a few seconds, chewing on his lower lip. "What about you?"

Jack's heart skipped a beat. "What about me?" he asked carefully, arching his eyebrows.

"What do you think? Was he a spy or just having an affair?"

Jack sighed. "It doesn't really matter what I think, Ennis—it doesn't change a thing. Fact is, this incident has added a pile of crap on our plate, friend, and we'll have to deal with it. It means I won't be able to visit your place. Too dangerous."

Ennis nodded. "I understand. Like I said before, you just do what you need to do, Jack. It doesn't change, uh… _anything_ for me."

He didn't smile but his eyes were so soft that Jack had to look away for a moment.

"But we'll stay in touch, alright? Meet _socially, _once in a while." He tried to smile encouragingly at Ennis, but the smile turned out cheerless.

Ennis didn't answer, picked up his fork and started eating. Jack followed suit. But in the end they left half of their pancakes on the plates, and didn't talk much either.

Ennis insisted on walking Jack back to the Metro and rode the escalator down with him, looking at his feet most of the time. But just as Jack's train was arriving in the station, preceded by a low, thunder-like rumble, a gust of cool air, then loud metallic screeching, he looked up at Jack and asked urgently, anxiously, "Will you still be coming to Leningrad in May?"

Jack squeezed his hand in a bone-crushing handshake, hoping his smile conveyed the confidence he didn't quite feel. "I will, Ennis. I promise."

* * *

A/N:

1 **Lenkom Theatre** is the official name of what was once known as the Moscow State Theatre, named after Lenin's Komsomol. Over its 80-year history, Lenkom has been a forerunner of new, fresh and exprimental theatre in the Soviet Union, and now Russia. Lenkom has featured many of the most popular Russian artists, well known by their work both in theatre and cinema. (from Wikipedia)

2 '**Juno ****and Avos**' is a popular Russian-language rock opera written by Alexey Rybnikov, libretto by Andrei Voznesensky. It was first performed in 1981 in the Lenkom Theatre, Moscow, directed by Mark Zakharov. Main roles in the premiere performed by Soviet stars Nikolai Karachentsov and Elena Shanina. The opera is named after the two ships _Juno_ and _Avos_ that constituted the expedition headed by Russian explorer Nikolai Rezanov. The plot is based on the love story of Nikolai Rezanov and Conchita Arguello, a 16 year old daughter of the colonial governor of Spanish California. (from Wikipedia).

3 **Nikita Mikhalkov** is a prominent Soviet and Russian filmmaker and actor.

4 '**Tootsie'** is a 1982 Sydney Pollack comedy starring Dustin Hoffman and Jessica Lange. In 2000 the American Film Institute ranked 'Tootsie' as the second funniest film of all times.

* * *

_Soundtrack: I'll Be There, by Mariah Carey_


	24. Chapter 24

- 24 -

_March 23, Sunday. 11:25p.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_Thank you for telling me what happened to your boss. I admit: before our meeting __I had been__ my mind had been conjuring up all sorts of theories. I even started speculating about you. I'm sorry, but you are a cultural attaché like him. What was I supposed to think? But now I understand that your people are right: he must have had an affair with a local woman. Got caught. Blackmailed. Kicked out. _

_I'm sure you know they do it to us, too. They can easily do it to Anton, for example—force him to report on other students. Anton is an easy victim: he doesn't have anyone who can protect him. They will break him, if they decide to use him. If he does like they say though, he will get some privileges: good job, good apartment, in Moscow. He will have to live with guilty conscience, though, that he has betrayed his friends' trust. _

_Anton is a good boy. But I don't know if he is strong enough to stand up against them._

_No, it can't happen to you, cowboy, simply can't! I understand your precautions and your worries. I also know that you worry more about me than about yourself. Because I'm reckless. I know that, too. I've been safe behind Grandfather's back for too long. I ought to start thinking that it will not last forever—my Grandfather won't last forever. Once again, Grisha was right. He doesn't come around anymore. I only see him when we have lab sessions._

_I had a general idea where I was heading before I met you. It made sense. Now it doesn't anymore. Because how can it make any sense if all that seem to matter nowadays is you? _

_And I can't tell you how grateful I'm to you for caring about me. I love you._

_E._

_..._

_March 30, Sunday. 11:47 p.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_I ran into Anya at the MGU today. Haven't seen her in 2 months. She said she and Sevka are going to get married after her graduation next year. And will probably take up a job in Leningrad. She looked like an older woman. Sadder. Almost severe. I feel like the last bastard. But what can I do? I will only ruin her if I marry her. I don't want her to become bitter like her mother. Although it looks like she is heading that way already. I sincerely hope that Sevka will be able to make her happier. _

_She asked about William; said her father told her that he was your boss. Told me I should stay away from you; that you might be a spy, too, and I might get myself in trouble. I told her I heard from Grandfather that William had had an affair with a local woman and got caught. Apparently she had heard that from her father too, but said she believed our newspapers, not rumors spread by who knows whom. Besides, if that story was true, Lara wouldn't have been dating you because Lara always knows what she's doing. _

_Then she asked if I'm dating anyone. I said I'm dating Natasha. She suddenly recalled she was late for a meeting, wished me luck and hurried away. _

_I am dating Natasha, Jack. You said I should, right? She's a nice girl. Kind, cheerful, with big baby-blue eyes. Smiles a lot. Reminds me of you sometimes. Except she's a redhead. A pretty good jazz singer too. Don't know what she's planning to do with that, though—jazz is not very popular here. Ha, that's Russians for you: we're so impractical; we just do what we feel we have to, without really thinking to what end. Or about the consequences. _

_What consequences? They never stop us from pursuing what we yearn for._

_Yours always,_

_E._

_..._

_April 7, Monday. 0:30 a.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_We've been practicing for the festival today at Karelin's studio (I've written a few pieces for his new opera; he let us use his studio our practicing in exchange). Artyom came to see us playing. He said we are doing well. In fact he was so enthusiastic that Yura said afterwards that he was going to play professionally after his graduation. Alex already made up his mind about it last year. He's now playing in a band at a restaurant downtown, just so that he's got a job. The two of them want us to keep the band and play professionally. If I quit physics, that will make four of us, since Kostja, our new drummer, is a professional musician anyway. He sings quite well too. The only one left is Vadim. Don't think he'll stay with us—he loves playing music with us, but he loves geology more. We will need to find a new keyboardist. Artyom may help again._

_After the practice I ran into Karelin in the corridor. We chit chatted for a few minutes. He hasn't been looking very well lately. Lara mentioned sometime ago that he is having problems at the Institute. Maybe with the organs too: he's too outspoken, doesn't even hide that he's gay. I admire him for that. He makes me wonder if I'd ever have the courage to show my true self to the world. I don't have the answer to that._

_Then he mentioned that he'd met you recently when you came to see Lara. You two talked and you had told him that I'm your friend. He gave me a strange look as he was saying that. As if I was a mathematical problem he was trying to solve. Told him Lara had introduced all of us to you. And you also are the Am. side coordinator for Grandfather's exchange project. So we all have been friends since. He seemed satisfied with that, but then suddenly said that you're a gorgeous looking man, too. I would have knocked him out, had someone not called for him that moment. So we parted ways. _

_How can a person be so admirable and so infuriating at the same time?! God please give me the strength to stand him! Because he is a very decent man at heart. _

_E._

_..._

_April 13, Sunday. 15 minutes to midnight._

_Dear Jack,_

_It's been over 3 weeks since we talked. How are you? I told you to do what you need to do and don't worry about me, but I still wish you called. I just want to hear your voice._

_No, it wasn't the only thing _

_After midnight. _

_I was so glad you called. Then don't know what happened. Were you upset with me? I'm sorry, cowboy. Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned Karelin and his questions about you. But there's nothing for you to be worried about him. It's true, Jack! We aren't friends, but I know enough about him to be sure that he is not a _stukach—_he wouldn't rat on anyone. Everybody who knows him knows that. He defies the organs openly and they have not been able to do anything to him. So far. But it's taking toll on him. You're right: he's probably on drugs. But even so, he won't report on either you or me or anyone. And he __doesn't know __anything__ about you and me._

_Alright, he had been making allusions at me even before I met you. But I'm sure he doesn't know about me. It's just his style—he makes advances on anyone he likes, regardless of whether they are like __that__ him or not. He was asking me to work on his shows forever; I've only agreed recently. Wrote a few pieces for his new rock opera. We may even play them in his show, too. It's a unique composition: an elaborate weaving of Tchaikovsky's and Prokofiev's piano concertos into Russian orthodox church chants and new wave rock. Quite amazing. The staging is extraordinary, too. Don't know if they would let him show it to the public. He keeps staging them all the same. _

_Anyway, you don't have to worry about Karelin. I will tell you more about him sometime. When we meet again. Perhaps before you take Grandfather and Dmitri Alexandrovich to America. I hope so. _

_Yours always,_

_E._

_..._

_April 15, Tuesday. 10:15p.m._

_Ran into Anton today at the cafeteria in our central building. Haven't seen him here since our joint project was completed (it's quite a walk from the Math Faculty building, so he and Anya don't usually come here unless they have appointments or attend special lectures or events.) In fact, I haven't seen him for quite a while: we don't hang out anymore since my fall-out with Sevka and Anya. And Grisha. Lara is the only one I seem to talk to nowadays. _

_So, Anton. He behaved strangely, as if he wanted to avoid talking to me. I pressured him into talking. _

_In short, he had been called up to dean Smetannik office again and asked about us—me specifically—hanging out and inviting Americans (you) to their homes. He was told that if he wants to graduate with honors and get a good job in Moscow, he'd better let the dean know what is going on with people like me and Grandfather, who we see and what we talk about. Then the dean had mentioned the conscription and said that Anton was on the list of potential conscripts put up for review in a few months. _

_Just like Grisha had predicted. _

_You don't want to be conscripted in the Soviet Army. We all know that. My friends and I have been able to evade it so far. But we never know if we can avoid it all together. _

_I didn't ask him how he'd answered. I could see it on his face—he can't lie at all. In truth, what can he do about it? He has no one to protect him but himself. _

_Perhaps I should talk to Grandfather. Don't know if he can do anything for Anton. _

_E._

_..._

_April 20, Sunday. Midnight. _

_Dear Jack,_

_You'll be leaving to America in 8 days. Last time we talked you said you'd be there for a few weeks. _

_I haven't told you, but you'll miss my birthday—May 9. Yes, I was born 19 years later on the day the Sov. Union won the WWII. We usually have a big birthday-Victory Day dinner at Grandfather's place every year, with lots of guests. Don't know if Grandfather will be back by that time. Don't know who of my friends will come this year. Perhaps I shouldn't be there either. _

_Maybe I'll be at my place celebrating it with you. Like we celebrated yours three and a half months ago—in my bed. Even if you won't be there in person, you'll still be there in my dreams. In my heart. _

_Will I see you before you leave? It has been 4 weeks since we met last. I need to see you. _

_I miss you._

_Yours always,_

_E._

_..._

* * *

For at least a month after the deportation of their boss, Jack and the rest of the USIA staff found their lives at the Embassy in a state of flux. They underwent numerous briefings by various security officers during the office hours; after work they speculated endlessly. Their Soviet Union and East Europe Deputy Head flew in from Washington during the last week of March to brief them and make interim arrangements till the new CAO was in place in early May.

Glenn found himself appointed acting CAO and Jack inherited William Osbourne's projects—he'd been running most of them for William anyway. As it happened, William's main project was the implementation of the Cultural Exchange Agreement's Addendum; the first exchange activity on its list was the tour of America later that year by the world-famous Kirov Ballet, based in Leningrad. So naturally the job would require a couple of trips to that city to meet with its management.

It took all Jack's willpower not to call Ennis immediately to tell him that he was coming to see him play at the rock festival for sure. The dust from the William Osbourne affair hadn't settled yet, and his friend definitely didn't need extra attention from the organs, which had ramped up considerably their surveillance of Jack since the arrival of their Washington boss.

So Jack didn't call Ennis until the second week of April, and in the end didn't manage to tell him about his assignment in Leningrad. At some point in his story about rehearsals with his band, Ennis mentioned Karelin's name and somehow the conversation went downhill from there. They didn't exactly fight, but each knew that the other was wound up and frustrated because he couldn't say freely what he wanted say on the phone.

Afterwards, Jack tried to reconstruct what exactly had happened and why it had affected him in that way—like he'd been taught to do.

He just didn't trust this character, he told himself. Ennis seemed to think differently, though: he had insisted that he didn't really like the man either, but he had protected him when Jack said he was probably a _stukach_—a snitch. Yeah, that was it—he didn't like Ennis protecting him, not one bit. Didn't like it because he still remembered how the scrawny director had looked at Ennis the first time they met at the MGU. Like a cat at a bowl of sour cream, as Russians would say. And now Ennis was practicing with his band at this man's studio…

_Uh-oh, are you jealous, Jack? _

_No, I'm not! But this Russian drives me... Am I?_

_What d'you think?_

No, he didn't want to think about it. Had no time to think about something so trivial right then.

Most of the following week Jack spent in Leningrad working with the administration office of Kirov Ballet Theatre.

He'd been taught at the Russian Institute in Germany that people in Leningrad were different from the Moscovites—softer, more dignified and highly intellectual; now he knew what his teachers, most of them from the White Russian stock, had meant. Their wining and dining was different—more refined, more restrained. The saleswomen in the shops were actually polite, and even returned his smiles.

By the end of Jack's 4-day visit he was on a first name basis with all the leading dancers as well as administrators of the theatre, and even acquired some admirers, both women and men. All of them enthusiastically offered to show him around Leningrad and its suburbs if he decided to stay over the weekend.

He did stay for the weekend, and spent the whole of Saturday wandering around town with one of prima ballerinas—the one from Kazakhstan. Petite and willowy, with soulful black eyes, she didn't seem quite fit into the troupe of predominantly Caucasian dancers. Somehow they found each other's company comforting and unobtrusive.

Jack made her walk him along all major and side streets in the central part of the town, trying to memorize his way around. Just in case. He didn't know where Ennis's rock festival would take place, where his friend would stay and what they would be doing afterwards, but thought it would be a good idea to come prepared.

He wanted to call Ennis, to let him know that he was making plans to be at his concert, but the surveillance on him had been so tight since his arrival that he was unable to do so. Instead, he called Lara from a pay phone not far from his hotel and told her that he was in Leningrad on business. He hoped that at least she was still talking to Ennis.

The KGB continued to tail him in Moscow, though not as closely. Still, Jack didn't think another stunt like the last time he'd visited Ennis's place would be a good idea. And he had to see him before his departure for America—he'd be away for a month.

By Friday night, Jack had given up hope that his shadows would give him a breather for a change and called Ennis around eleven o'clock on his way home from the Marines' bar.

Ennis was home and they talked for a few minutes. Then Jack asked if he could drop by the next evening around nine o'clock for half an hour, to bring Ennis a few books.

"I'm sorry, friend. I can't do more. _Neudobno._" The Russian word for 'inconvenient' had multiple meanings and he hoped Ennis would understand what he really meant.

There was a moment of silence, then Ennis sighed heavily. "I understand".

He hung up shortly after and headed home, noticing a beige _Lada_ dropping off someone a few hundred yards behind him.

The next day was the first practice day of the American softball team after a long Russian winter. Jack spent all morning and early afternoon playing shortstop, a position that nobody else wanted, so by two o'clock he was beat. He returned to the Embassy with the others, most of them Marines and Seabees who lived on the Embassy's grounds. He shared a late lunch and a few beers with them and returned to his apartment at around five.

He stood under a hot shower for a long time, running the details of all possible scenarios in his head again. He was going for an open game this time and prayed they wouldn't decide to make the move on him today—he would be visiting a friend's home, they'd seen him doing that before, so it shouldn't be a big deal. He just hoped he'd have enough willpower to stand firm in the face of temptation. Whose name was Ennis...

… Shit, he'd got hard just by thinking about resisting the temptation. And he'd thought he'd worn himself out good playing softball the whole morning!

Jack turned off the hot water and stood under the freezing shower till his skin started going numb and his teeth chattering. Then he climbed out, rubbed himself off with an old, rough towel and walked barefoot into the bedroom where he climbed under the comforter. Once he found a comfortable position on his back, spread-eagled, he sighed and closed his eyes. And ordered himself not to think why visits to his best friend and lover—_yes, might as well say it—_had to be op runs, with the KGB close on his heels.

At 7:30p.m. Jack was ready to roll. The weather had been unseasonably warm for the last two days, so he put on his tennis shoes, the jeans jacket over his denim shirt, picked up his backpack loaded with three volumes of science extras of the Encyclopedia Britannica and a large plastic bag with the remaining two tomes, locked his door and went out.

As planned, the plastic bag burst right outside of the _militzia_ guard's booth and the two thick books fell to the ground. The guard watched Jack bitching with an amused smirk, but didn't move from his post. Jack took his time inspecting the books for damage. Once satisfied, he jammed them into his backpack, opening it wide enough for the guard to see its contents. Then he smiled sheepishly at the Russian, stuffed the ripped plastic bag into the overflowing dustbin by the opening in the chain-link fence and left the compound.

On the street, he didn't take any of the first four cars that stopped for him, haggling over the fare and bitching spiritedly. The fifth one was a private car with out of town plates, so Jack took it and went straight to Ennis's place. He alighted two blocks from his friend's apartment block, intending to walk the rest of the way.

It looked like he was in the clear, but he couldn't trust it as he hadn't done the CS run today. At least he had prepared a story, a plausible one he thought, just in case.

Then, as he was nearing Ennis's building, it occurred to him that perhaps he was being overly paranoid. Why would the KGB make a move on him now? They didn't know that he was a case officer—he was pretty sure of it by now. They had to be aware that Ennis lived here, therefore Jack wasn't visiting a woman and they couldn't catch them having an affair and blackmail him into spying. Not a soul here knew that either he or Ennis was gay. So what could they really accuse him and Ennis of? That they were pals and he was visiting his friend before going home for a month? Hardly anything that justified organizing an ambush. So what was the worst that could happen to them? His visit would probably be logged and they would keep it for using against them later, when opportune.

Later, not now. For now, he could relax and… Jack smiled to himself, impatience rolling in waves in his stomach as he quickened his steps into inner courtyard of the building.

The door opened three seconds after the ring.

"_Privet_, Ennis."

"_Privet._ Come in, please."

Ennis's face was unreadable again and Jack sighed as he stepped inside. The door immediately closed behind him and Jack heard the metallic click of the chain falling into place.

He turned to Ennis who still stood by the door. "I'm sorry, I couldn't call earlier. I—"

"It's okay. I understand," Ennis responded in English. He finally smiled a little and took a tentative step closer to Jack.

Jack dropped his loaded backpack, which landed in on the floor with a soft thud, caught Ennis by his biceps and pulled him into his arms. Ennis yielded to the embrace easily, circling his arms around Jack's waist. He buried his face in the base of Jack's neck and let out a shuddering exhale.

"God, Ennis, I…" Jack choked on the words and bit his lower lip.

Ennis pulled back a little and gazed deep into Jack's eyes, his smile widening as he said quietly but clearly, "I know. Me too." He leaned in and covered Jack's lips with his for a moment , then pulled back again. "How much time do we have?" he asked without a smile.

_Not enough. _"An hour… And a half."Jack planted a soft kiss on his lips and let go of him. "I've brought something for you here."

He hauled up his backpack from the floor, toed his runners off and proceeded into the sitting room.

Ennis was close on his heels. "You shouldn't have, Jack. Really."

Jack opened his bag, pulled out two gold embossed black leather tomes and put them on the table without a word.

"What is it?" Ennis picked one book up and read the title out loud, "Encyclopedia Britannica. Science and Future. Volume 5… Wow!" He watched wide-eyed as Jack unloaded the rest of the contents of his backpack on the table.

"I have thirty-five more at home. Our library has been shut down and they were up for the taking… Thought you might find it, um, useful." Jack shrugged awkwardly.

Ennis looked up at him, still lost for words. "Thirty... forty volumes! All for me?"

"It's your birthday present." Jack grinned, caring not that he might sound like an excited kid.

"Thank you very much. But it's not my birthday yet."

"It will be eventually, right? You may even have the whole collection by then."

"Right… It's on May 9th actually."

"May ni… Oh…" Shit, he'd be in America.

"Yeah… This is a… uh, an enormous gift. No, it's true!" he insisted when Jack tried to object. "Nobody's ever given me anything like this for a present. Thank you so much! … But you know… I'd rather just have you… as my birthday present." He stepped up to Jack, put his arms around Jack's waist, and pressed his whole lanky frame against him.

At first, they just stood like that, leaning into each other, holding each other softly, breathing in the other's scent. But as seconds ticked away, their embrace tightened, their mouths came together, and then they were clinging to one another, frantic and desperate, like they were sinking and the other was his lifebuoy. Then, without breaking the kiss, Ennis began to walk Jack backwards slowly toward the couch, one hand holding him by the neck while the other one fumbled with his belt buckle. He pushed Jack down so that he was sitting on the couch, then knelt down on the floor between his knees and unbuttoned his jeans.

He had just pushed Jack's t-shirt all the way up, his hands worshiping Jack's quivering abs when the phone rang.

They froze, turned their heads slowly toward the telephone on the small table by the couch, their hearts accelerating to a sprint.

Ennis swallowed. "We're not home," he mumbled through his teeth.

"Answer it, Ennis. _They've seen_ me coming here," Jack said quietly but firmly and pulled his t-shirt down.

Ennis looked up at him, his expression a mixture of skepticism and disappointment. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Answer the phone. Please."

Ennis nodded, sprung up, adjusted himself and took two steps to the ringing telephone. He took a deep breath before answering it. "Alyo?"

_No, please God, no! Let it not be _them_!_

"Oh, how are you?... I'm good, thanks. How's mama?" Ennis looked at Jack, gave him an encouraging half smile and mouthed 'grandfather'. The next moment his smile waned and he was knitting his brows together. "Yes, I have. Why?... What happened?... How can they do this? Your trip was planned months ago!... _What_?!..." There was a longer pause as Ennis's grandfather explained what had happened. "Is this the one that—" He was apparently interrupted. "Oh, damn, that'll ruin all his plans… Are you going to call him now?" He stared at Jack with strange expression on his face.

Jack was watching Ennis closely as he talked on the phone; he pointed at his own chest and mouthed 'me?'

Ennis nodded distractedly and dropped his gaze. "Alright, I'll call him later… It's Saturday night, Grandpa. He's probably out… with his girlfriend." He turned his face away, but Jack still saw that his ears pinked. "What should I tell him?... Alright … I'm sure he'll be very upset. You know he's been working so hard on this project with us… Alright, Grandpa. I'll tell him…Please tell mama I'll drop by tomorrow afternoon. Goodnight."

Ennis sat still for a moment after hanging up, then raised his eyes to meet Jack's. His face was clouded with concern.

"What did he say?" Jack demanded, acutely aware that he sounded abrupt. Business-like.

"He asked for your home phone number. Said he needed to call you urgently." He looked as if he was still trying to digest what he'd just heard.

"What happened?"

"He wants to personally let you know and apologize that he can't go to America the day after tomorrow." Ennis's tone was apologetic, like it was his fault.

"What?! But why? Oh, c'mon, Ennis, spit it out already!"

Ennis held Jack's eyes for a second, then said unhurriedly, like he was weighing every word, "There's an urgent, unforeseen matter that Grandfather has been asked by the Government to help with. He's flying out to Kiev tomorrow morning. He's calling you now. His lab will call you again tomorrow. And he's asked me to call you, too. Tonight if possible. Said he's extremely sorry for ruining your plans."

"Did he say what happened?"

Again, Ennis hesitated for a moment, chewing on the inside of his lower lip. "Don't think I'm supposed to tell you… Oh, to hell with it! There was an accident at a power station not far from Kiev. Sounds like it's very serious. He's been asked to join a group of specialists to look at the effects and consequences."

"What has your grandfather to do with power stations? He's an atmospheric physicist… Isn't he?" Jack asked suspiciously, trying frantically to figure what kind of game the Sovs were trying to play this time.

Ennis nodded solemnly. "He is. But he's also a nuclear physicist, remember?" He sighed, conceding the rest of the story. "It's a nuclear power station. At a place call Chernobyl."


	25. Chapter 25

- 25 -

They didn't talk much after Ennis's grandfather's call, both understanding well that Jack had to leave soon. They just sat on the couch in silence for a while, thighs pressed together, Jack's arm wrapped around Ennis's shoulders, Ennis's hand on Jack's thigh. Then Ennis asked if Jack wanted coffee and he nodded. So they untangled themselves and trudged to the kitchen where Ennis made two cups of strong instant coffee. They sat down across from each other at the kitchen table, sipping the bitter-sweet liquid in silence, sharing a cigarette, their legs touching and occasionally fingers.

Jack swallowed the last of his coffee and put down the empty cup. "I still don't understand," he said, pensive. "Don't they have other qualified specialists who could give advice on this matter? Don't get me wrong, I have the highest regards for your grandfather. But surely he's not the one and only nuclear physicists in this country?"

"No, he is not. But grandfather's not simply a qualified specialist," Ennis said distractedly, still deep in thought.

"No? Who is he, then?"

Ennis sighed, then chuckled sadly, looking down at the mug that he was turning in his fingers. "Life is so strange. The history repeats itself. Don't know if he realizes this…" He raised his head and met Jack's eyes. "Do you know anything about, uh, RBMK reactors?"

Jack shook his head.

"It's high-power, channel type of nuclear reactors designed and used in the Soviet Union. Don't think it's used anywhere else in the world… So, grandfather was part of the team that came up with the idea to use the same principles and design of plutonium production facilities for electricity production. They first experimented with it in the fifties. Then grandfather participated in the first production tests in the sixties."

"I didn't know that." _Interesting_. How come Prof. Volkonsky's file didn't have any of this? And he'd thought they'd had complete information on all participants of the nuclear winter project.

"Yeah, nowadays few people remember it."

"Why?"

"His name has been removed from most of the work related to the RBMK reactors… He disagreed with the proposed design. Thought it was not safe enough for industrial production."

"So they kicked him out?"

"No. He left. Started working on atmospheric physics instead. One of his, uh, hobbies."

Jack digested this information. "I didn't know that it was possible here," he said after a moment. "I mean, walking out on a State project, just like that."

"Well, perhaps that's why he agreed to head the nuclear winter project instead." Ennis chuckled sadly again. "With which now _I_ disagree."

"So why are they calling on him now?"

Ennis shrugged. "Maybe they've realized he was right. From what I know they did listen to him to some extent. The second generation of RBMK reactors has been improved to lower void coefficient of reactivity and with increased ORM." Seeing a blank expression on Jack's face, he hastened to explain, "Meaning they are safer than the previous model… They even invited grandfather to the opening ceremony of new power plants or reactors a few times."

"At this, um, Churnovabill place?"

"Chernobyl Atomic Electro Station, yes. He took me there with him once, long time ago. But he says it's still not enough… Perhaps he's right."

Jack lit up a new cigarette. "And so… where else do they use these, um, RBMK reactors now?"

"At most atomic electro stations—in Leningrad, Kursk, Smolensk, Chernobyl. Then there's a new, big station in _Litva_."

"Lithuania," Jack corrected.

"Yes, Lithuania." Ennis's lips curled up in a grateful little smile. "It has the largest RBMK reactor. One thousand five hundred megawatt. From what I know it's the largest capacity reactor in the world."

Jack watched his friend intently, curiosity mixing with admiration. "How come you know all this? Are you planning to be an engineer at a RBMK nuclear power plant?" he asked flippantly.

"Nah. I read about it. Grandfather receives lots of scientific magazines." He paused for a second, then blurted out, "I want to, uh… leave the university."

"_What_?!"

"I want to be a professional musician. Play with my band. Write music, you know… Maybe I can come to perform in America once day. Visit you maybe," Ennis joked and smiled a little, then shrugged awkwardly when he saw Jack's reaction.

Jack stared at him for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. "Oh-kay… What are your folks saying about that? Have you told them?"

"No!" Ennis shook his head vigorously. "They'll kill me. Or would die of heart attacks… Or both." He sighed and dropped his gaze. "Don't think I can do this till… while they are… with me. No, nobody knows about it. Only you." He raised his head to meet Jack's eyes, smiling shyly.

A powerful, warm wave rolled over Jack. He reached for Ennis's hand on top of the table, stood up, took a step aside and pulled at his hand. "C'mere." He gathered his friend in a tight, affectionate embrace, rocked him a little, like Ennis had done to him a few times. "Maybe you will, bud. Maybe you will one day…"

They remained in each other's arms for a minute, reveling in the other's scent and warmth, Jack trying to commit to memory the feeling of his lover's young, lean body in his arms. Then he loosened his hold and carefully extracted himself from Ennis's embrace.

"I have to go, bud… So that you can call and tell me about your grandfather," he joked humorlessly.

Ennis distanced himself further from him, leaving Jack with a void where warmth had just been. They walked to the door, and when Jack bent down to lace up his shoes, Ennis asked suddenly, "What will happen to your trip now? Will you go anyway?"

Jack looked up, only to catch his friend dropping his gaze to stare at his feet.

"I don't know. I have to report it first. Then we'll see." Jack straightened up, lifting his shoulder bag from the floor. "Your grandfather didn't say anything about Dr Arceniev, did he?"

Ennis looked up at the question, but only for a moment. "No. Maybe he'll still go. I'll find out."

"Okay." Jack looked at his watch. "It's five past ten. Call me around eleven. I should be home by then. I'll call you tomorrow night, alright?"

Ennis only nodded in response, his face grim, looking anywhere but at Jack.

Shit, why was it so hard every time he had to go? They should have gotten used to it by now, shouldn't they? But there was an air of finality every time they parted that Jack couldn't shake off and it bothered him long after the goodbyes were said.

They shook hands silently, embraced for the last time, then Jack wrenched the door opened and closed it firmly behind him—before Ennis could step out. Then he waved down a private car right in front of his friend's apartment block and went straight home.

Ennis called Jack 11:05pm and informed him that his grandfather was unable to go to America because of an urgent matter at the Academy of Sciences. Jack feigned disappointment, telling Ennis to ask Prof. Volkonsky's lab to send an official notice the next day. He didn't care if tomorrow was Sunday, he added sulkily for good measure. His little act seemed to baffle Ennis: he was quiet for a moment before saying apologetically that he would let his grandfather know about Jack's request.

When he hung up, Jack immediately dialed Glenn's home number. His colleague, who was acting as the head of CAO office until the arrival of their new boss, reacted the same way to the news as Jack had to Ennis's "announcement" – except that Glenn's whining was genuine. As he had expected, Glenn told him to go to the Embassy right away and send an urgent cable to the HQ about the postponement of the Soviet delegation's trip. Jack protested for a minute or two before grudgingly giving in.

He had to go to the Embassy anyway, to report on the unexpected change in his planned activities to his other superiors. Nurimbekoff was out of the country, so it was Mark Morris to whom he had to report this time. The Deputy Chief would at last have a chance to meet with the deep cover case officer at the Moscow Station, whom he probably only knew by the code name TRISTAN.

It was just before midnight when Jack reached the Embassy. He headed straight to the commo room and sent a cable to the USIA's HQ in Washington. Then he chatted for a few minutes with the officer on duty before heading to Uncle Sam's. He ordered a whiskey and coke and joined two contractors at the bar. After five minutes he excused himself and headed for the public phone in the corner near the restroom.

A woman's voice answered on the fourth ring, "Hello?"

Jack pitched his voice low, almost whispered, "Good evening, m'am. May I talk to Mr. Morris, please?"

"Hold a minute, please. I'll call him." Clearly an old hand, Mrs. Morris didn't ask who he was or why he was calling her husband after midnight.

There was a long pause, then Mark Morris's voice came on the line, brusque and impatient. "Yes, speaking."

Jack pictured in his mind the short, cocky New Yorker who had played on the opposing team at their softball game earlier that day; his powerful and wicked strike-outs had compensated in full for the man's lack of stature. Jack had tried to stay away from him as much as possible as he did with other case officers, except William.

"Good evening, sir. This is _Redmond_." He paused, waiting for a reaction on the other end.

"Yes. I'm listening," the voice replied neutrally. Jack couldn't tell if the name had even registered with the man.

"I need to see you, sir. Now, if possible."

Mark Morris didn't hesitate for a second. "You know my office. I'll be there in quarter of an hour." So he knew the name after all.

"I'll be there."

Exactly fifteen minutes later Jack was knocking softly on the door of the Deputy Chief of Station's office on the fifth floor.

The door opened almost immediately and Mark Morris waved Jack through with one hand while pointing down at the threshold with the other — the floor of the room was two fingers higher than that of the corridor. As Jack stepped in, he swiftly shut the door behind him.

The office was small and dark except for a shaded lamp on a virtually empty the desk on the right. A bookcase took up most of one wall; next to it was a large fireproof safe. In the corner, a chair was overflowing with books and magazines. There was not a file in sight - Mark Morris obviously followed the no-file-left-unlocked-overnight rule to the letter.

"Good evening… sir," Jack said as they shook hands. "Sorry for calling so late." He was unsure whether to behave casually or formally with this deputy chief who was only about six or seven years older than him. Plus they'd just played softball together. He must have excelled on his last posting to be assigned at his comparatively young age as the deputy chief to the Agency's most important station, in the heart of the Main Enemy.

"It's alright, Jack," said Mark Morris.

Jack tensed up immediately. The Moscow Station believed that the building on the other side of the eight-lane street was aiming powerful listening devices at the commissary building day and night. Jack hadn't been told that his deep cover would be breached that night to anyone but the deputy chief.

His anxiety didn't escape the other man, who smirked and pointed at the chairs at the heavy desk. "Relax, man. Take a seat. This room has been soundproofed. It's almost as secure as the Tank."

Now Jack noticed that in addition to the raised floor, the room's walls were covered with thick panels and the ceiling was lower than in other offices.

"So, the famed Jack from the CAO office." Mark Morris watched Jack intently for a moment, then chuckled and shook his head. "Good job, man."

"Thank you, sir." Jack didn't like his patronizing smile and tried to maintain a formal attitude.

"It's Mark. Or Morris. Your pick… And for fuck's sake, skip the 'sirs'!"

Jack hoped his bewilderment didn't show. "Okay."

"Good. So, tell me."

"Right. According to one of our exchange programs, I was supposed to accompany two Soviet scientists to Berkeley and New York. We were to leave on Monday. An hour and a half ago I got a call from the grandson of one of them—the boy's also part of the exchange team. He said he grandfather had been asked to join an extremely urgent, extraordinary mission. So he wasn't going to America… Apparently, there was a major accident at a nuclear power plant near Kiev. A place called Chernobyl. Serious enough for the government to ask leading scientists to fly there immediately."

"And the guy told you all this on the phone?" the deputy chief asked, raising his eyebrows in disbelief.

"No, in person. It's part of an op," Jack explained when Mark Morris continued to stare at him quizzically. "But it'd be better if Nurimbekoff tells you about it… when he's back." He hadn't been told whether he could talk about Operation Light Water with the deputy chief.

"The one Joe Cohen runs himself?" Mark Morris asked, suspicion heavy in his tone. "I thought William was… Alright, I'll talk to Marat… So what are you saying here? The Sovs have an accident at one of their power plants and your contact reported to you about it. Besides, you're not going home on Monday. Correct?"

"Yesss, correct…" He hesitated for a moment, then said firmly, "I think this accident is of somewhat extraordinary proportions, otherwise they wouldn't have called upon my contact. He specializes in the effects of major nuclear wars. Or in this particular case, maybe of a nuclear catastrophe."

The deputy chief watched Jack closely for a second, then nodded. "Sounds plausible. Where did you say that plant was?"

"A place called Chernobyl. Or maybe Chernoble, I'm not sure. Somewhere near Kiev."

"Let's have a look at the map."

From the bookcase Mark Morris produced a folded map the size of a magazine, which he opened out and spread on the desktop.

They tried to find Chernobyl on the large map of the Soviet Union, but eventually gave up. So it was agreed that Mark would send a coded cable to the HQ informing their Head of Ops of a major accident at a nuclear power facility near Kiev and that Jack and his contact were not coming to America as planned. They also agreed to reconvene in this office on Tuesday night. By that time Nurimbekoff would be back in the country and maybe even with some information on the accident, courtesy of the NSA.

Knowing how 'open' the Soviet State was about sharing information, Jack didn't expect any news about the accident in the press. Still, his job included, amongst other things, close monitoring of the local press and TV and so that was what he did for the next few days.

On Sunday, before anything transpired locally, first Sweden, then Finland and Denmark reported detecting abnormal levels of radioactivity. The source was believed to be in the Soviet Union. The international news wire services picked up the report and the news began to spread across the globe like a wildfire.

The surprise came on Monday evening when the State news agency TASS issued an unprecedented statement about the accident, which was read in the nine o'clock news program _Vremya_.

"An accident has occurred at the Chernobyl atomic power station as one of the reactors was damaged. Measures have been undertaken to eliminate the consequences of the accident. Aid is being given to those affected. A government commission has been set up," the female anchor read from the text on the desk in front of her, her tone emotionless.

The atypical Soviet disclosure, for all its brevity, left the world worrying that it could be a major accident and the uneasiness permeated Jack. Furthermore, it became known that the Soviet official announcement was made _after_ the Swedish Embassy had contacted the Soviet officialdom to ask about the leak and had been told that they knew nothing about any nuclear accident.

Tuesday's international press was full of speculation about events at the Soviet nuclear power plant sixty miles south of Kiev. Major newspapers and TV programs carried special interviews and opinions from renowned physicists and nuclear engineers familiar with Soviet reactors, as well as officials of the International Atomic Energy Agency. Several newspapers quickly labeled it the worst disaster in the history of nuclear power. But as yet, there was no meaningful clarification locally.

The consensus appeared to Jack to be that the accident involved a non-nuclear explosion caused by a loss of reactor coolant and possibly the meltdown of the reactor core. The experts suggested that most of the radiation had been released within the first few hours, and that additional radioactive materials were not likely to escape in significant quantities. It was believed that because of intense radiation, it would be impossible to get into the immediate damaged area; therefore, the Soviets might have no choice but to allow the fire to burn itself out – and the fire could continue for days.

On Tuesday night Marat, who had returned to Moscow the previous night, confirmed the talk about the raging fires— together with major activities around the damaged reactor, they were clearly visible on the shots taken from the space by NSA's satellites. The Station chief also told Jack to prepare to go back to America as planned, whether the Soviet scientists were going or not—he'd been in the country for over a year now and it was time for a short break. But before his departure, he was to catch up with his Soviet contacts.

Jack noticed that Nurimbekoff had mentioned not a single name during the entire meeting. So Mark Morris hadn't been cleared for details of Op Light Water after all, he reckoned. Which was curious, to say the least, seeing that he was the second in command at the Moscow Station.

The Soviet authorities continued trickling out information about Chernobyl, leaving the rest of the world guessing about the accident. The international scrutiny of the Soviet Union intensified toward May 1, the day the Government and Soviet people always celebrated International Labor Day with grand demonstrations and displays on Red Square as well as in every city, town and village across the vast country. The cancellation of the celebrations on Red Square could be interpreted as a signal that Chernobyl was indeed the catastrophe that some of the international scientists suspected.

But on Thursday, the Soviets held their customary grandiose May Day event on the Red Square, complete with a military parade and large public concerts. Similar festive walks, parades and public concerts in the open air were held in Kiev, Chernigov, Zhytomir and other Soviet towns within a hundred kilometer radius from the damaged power station.

Jack called Ennis on Friday night to let him know he was leaving home on Monday and to ask if they could meet.

They met on Sunday afternoon in front of the _Izmailovsky _Park and spent almost four hours hanging out, first around the flea market then in the park. As they sauntered deep into the part ground, Ennis explained to Jack the potential effects of the Chernobyl station's reactor meltdown—they were as chilling as the air on that sunny but nippy afternoon. Then they talked about Soviet underground music and Ennis's new rocker friends; about Jack's friends during his university days; and about Karelin's new musical in which Lara had the leading role and for which Ennis had written a few songs. Then they watched in silence the silver, blue and mauve sunset over the park's largest pond, shivering from the night chill that rose from the dark, calm water, sharing a cigarette to warm up, refusing to give up and go home.

It was late when Ennis dropped him off a few blocks from his place. Jack lingered for a few more minutes, struggling to come up with something to break the uneasy silence that had descended on them like a suffocating blanket as soon as they'd got into the car.

Ennis stared straight ahead of him, his long fingers wrapped around the steering wheel in a death grip. "You'll be back… won't you?" he muttered finally, cutting a quick glance Jack's way.

It was the first time for the entire afternoon and evening that he'd mentioned Jack's departure for home. And Jack suddenly realized that he wasn't the only one who felt like they were seeing each other for the last time every time they said goodbye.

Sensing Ennis's desperation, he put his hand on his knee and squeezed it. "Of course I will, Ennis. Don't you go around doubting it for a second! I'll be back in time for your concert. I promise… Are we good?" He leaned forward a little, trying to look into Ennis's eyes, smiling at him reassuringly.

Ennis turned to him and nodded. "Yes… I'll wait…" He offered Jack his hand and tried to smile too.

Jack swallowed, grabbed his hand and squeezed it with all his might, trying to convey to his friend all that he felt but couldn't put into words. Then he yanked his hand back, wrenched the door open and shut it resolutely behind him.

No, there could be no words for _this_. Simply couldn't! Because realistically, what could he tell Ennis? What,whenthey both knew so goddamn well that _all this_—whatever it was that held them in such a tight grip—would have to end one day?

… Right?


	26. Chapter 26

- 26 -

Jack flew out of Moscow on Monday evening. Pan Am had resumed direct flights between the US and Moscow the previous week, after almost ten years, and the State Department encouraged all Embassy staff to travel with the airline. Jack was glad he didn't have to pay for his travels, because at a whopping $2,700 for an economy class ticket, the airfare was nearly twice the price of a British Airways' flight via London. As it was, his Monday flight was the only non-stop flight Pan Am offered, once a week, to New York on new Boeings 747s. Two other flights were routed through Frankfurt.

When Jack showed up at his office at the USIA's Washington HQ on Wednesday, the team assistant immediately handed him two notes from a Ms Joanna Redmond asking him to call her back as soon as he could on the number she'd left. He grinned sheepishly at the assistant, a heavyset, bleached blonde in her mid forties, who grumbled that she wasn't there to deliver messages from his girlfriends, and promised her that it was the last time she would be hearing from Joanna.

Joanna Redmond, huh? Jack wondered what could have happened since he'd left Moscow two days ago that Joe had him summoned with code red alert. He was supposed to report to Langley on Friday anyway.

Friday, May 9th, the day the Soviet people celebrated their victory in WWII, which they called the Great Patriotic War for the Motherland. Ennis's birthday.

Knowing that birthdays were a big deal for Russians, he had tried to delay his return to America until the following week, or at least till Saturday, in order to be able to come to Ennis's birthday. But even Jack's excuse that he shouldn't be leaving when his new USIA boss had just arrived didn't work: Nurimbekoff told him to leave on or before 5 May. He hadn't been given any explanation about why he was being ordered out of the country, but Jack had figured the Station must have something up again, and they wanted to keep him completely out of the picture.

Jack called the number he'd been left and the female voice told him that he had reached the operator of Starlight Technologies and asked how she could help him. He asked for Joanna Redmond and was connected without further ado to the assistant of SE Department's Head of Ops who told him that Mr. Cohen wanted to see him in his office at 10:00 a.m. the next morning.

On Thursday Jack arrived an hour early and headed straight to the cafeteria on the UG level to catch up on the HQ gossip so that he could give himself a head-ups before his meeting, possibly even a debriefing, with Joe.

The Agency's compartmentalized security system extended all the way down to its cafeterias. Thus, there were two cafeterias for staff at Langley—one on the top floor for general and overt employees and the other, on the UG level, for covert staff and field officers. The latter was smaller and more exclusive, but it was as efficient a grapevine as the one on the top of the building: having bonded at the Farm and shared some harsh field experience, case officers told each other about other people's assignments and gossiped about their and others' operations.

Jack saw a couple of familiar faces, but the two men were discussing something in hushed tones in a corner; they simply nodded to him in greeting and went back to their quiet conversation. So Jack picked a BLT sandwich, a coke and a coffee and asked permission of two women to join them at the table opposite the door.

The older one, Jane, was from the East German desk. Jack had met and exchanged a few words with her at a function or two. The younger one, LaShawn ('With capital 'S', please!') was a rookie, fresh out of the Farm, currently rotating through the Far East desk. She had a strong Texas drawl, a smile rivaling Jack's and a pair of huge, slightly sad brown eyes. Later he learned that the only work experience LaShawn had was a year and half as a kindergarten teacher and two years with the Peace Corps in the South East Asia. How she'd ended up with the Agency was beyond Jack.

Jane was in the middle of sharing with her friend the latest agency gossip when Jack sat down at their table. She started over for his sake and Jack almost choked on his sandwich: a case officer had just been arrested in Moscow the previous night, on a bren with his agent—yet another one.

_Oh, for Christ's sakes, would this disastrous streak ever end?! _ At this rate, they would soon have neither agents nor case officers left in Soviet Russia.

He didn't mention to the women that he was from the Moscow Station, only saying that he was just back from the field and waiting for a debrief.

When he came up for the meeting with his Head of Ops, it turned out that Joe Cohen had been summoned for an urgent meeting in the DCI's office, together with the Head of SE Division. His assistant didn't know when he would be back or whether he would have time for Jack then. Jack chatted with her for a few minutes, but didn't learn anything new about the latest Moscow rollup case. So he left and went back to his office at the USIA to arrange a temporary hand-over of his projects while he was on his annual leave.

On Friday, when Jack got back from lunch with three of his IA colleagues, there was a note on his temporary desk, asking him to call a Daisy Fernandez at the number provided. He stared at the note for a moment, an uneasy feeling settling in heavy in his gut. He didn't know anyone named Daisy Fernandez and Joe's assistant's name was Donna.

He called the number in the note from a public phone a block from his office building. It was Starlight Technologies again and, similar to his last call, the operator connected him to Daisy Fernandez without further questions.

"Hello?" a surly female voice answered. Jack had to remind himself that he wasn't in Moscow and she was speaking English to him.

"Good afternoon. My name's Jack Twist. I've been asked to call Ms Daisy Fernandez at this number."

"Ah, yes, Mr. Twist. 'Preciate your calling back. Can you talk?" She was obviously asking if he could be overheard.

"Yes, please go ahead."

"This is Daisy from the Office of Security. You're scheduled for a polygraph test on Monday. Eleven a.m. Room 1011E. I trust you know where our office is."

A chill ran down Jack's spine. "A, um, test?" He swallowed the word. "Are you sure?"

"Are you case officer Jack Twist?" she asked irritably.

"Yes, I am."

"And have you just returned from the field?" It sounded more like an accusation than a question. "I hope you know the procedure, Mr. Twist: a debriefing and a polygraph test are to be scheduled within ten working days from the date of return to the office. My record says you returned on Monday."

"That's correct."

"D'you have any more questions, Mr. Twist?"

"Don't think I have." What else could he say?

"Very well, then. It's 11:00 a.m., room 1011E, in our offices. And please don't be late," she instructed him before hanging up.

Jack stared at the pay phone receiver in his hand for a few second, sweat breaking out under his arm, then put it back carefully in its cradle and walked out into the busy street drenched in the balmy, early summer sunshine.

Shit! How in the bloody hell was he gonna do this? How would he ever be able to pass a polygraph test when _every _mention of Moscow triggered the image of… of his target in his mind? When he went all weak inside just hearing his future agent's name? When he got hard just by imagining him smiling his crooked little smile at him? God help him, he was so fucked!

And why was it that he'd been scheduled in for a polygraph test? Hadn't Joe told him that he'd be exempt from it if he agreed to play a part—the _main_ part—of the Seawater Op? So what the fuck had happened to that?

…Nah, he wasn't gonna take it easy like that, thank you very much. Joe had dragged him into this shit, let Joe sort this shit out… He'd just let this op go bust—he'd tell them all about it and walk. He'd had enough of this spy crap, for the rest of his fucking life!

_Yeah, right? You gonna walk, Jack? Gutsy, aren't we? And what about Ennis, huh? Your friend Ennis, remember? The one who's waiting on you, 'cause you said you'd be back? What about him, Jack fucking Twist?_

_Oh, shit! Shit! Fuck! I'm sorry, Ennis! I'm so sorry, baby… _

He stopped abruptly in the middle of the street and shut his eyes tight for half a second, ignoring pedestrians bumping into him and growling their displeasure at him. Then he shook his head vigorously, took a deep breath and started walking resolutely toward Federal Center Metro Station, looking for another pay phone.

He called Joe's office and asked if he could come to see Mr. Cohen today—as it had originally been scheduled. But Donna told him that Mr. Cohen was fully booked today and his earliest availability was Tuesday at 4:00 p.m. Jack said Tuesday would do, asked her to book him in and hanged up.

No, Tuesday was _not_ gonna do it for him, that was a fact. He bent his head down, pressed the edges of his palms into his eyes and froze.

_Think, Jack, think! It's only ten numbers and you already know three of them—two-oh-two. Only seven left. You did better than that at the Farm, didnjah?_

A long forgotten number. An unlisted, private number in Joe's office that he had given Jack a few years ago, before Jack had joined the Agency. He'd never used—had never planned on using it. That was why he was wracking his brain trying to recall it now.

He got it right only on the fifth attempt.

"Speaking." Joe's tone was abrupt. And tired.

Jack let out a shuddering exhale and blurted out, "Joe, it's Jack."

There was a pause, then Joe said cautiously, "Yes?"

"It's Jack." It occurred to him that maybe he wasn't the only Jack his mentor knew, close and personal. "Jack from—"

"Yes, speaking." Joe's tone was almost imperceptibly softer this time and Jack realized that he might not be alone.

"I need to see you."

"I'm busy right now. Can it wait till Monday?"

"I'm afraid not." Jack was conscious that he was way out of line, but pressed on, "It's urgent."

Joe hesitated for a second. "Can you call me again in two hours?"

"Of course! I will… Thank you, Joe," he added and hanged up, feeling almost apologetic.

But it was Joe who had dragged him in all this, hadn't he? Without explaining to him what this shit was all about, right? So there was nothing he should feel apologetic about: Joe Cohen put him on this spot; Joe Cohen would have to get him out of it, period.

Two hours later Jack called from a pay phone again.

Joe answered on the second ring. "Speaking." He sounded resigned. Or maybe dead tired.

"It's me again. I need to talk to you, Joe. As I said, it's urgent."

"I got it. Where are you?"

"Downtown." Never give away your exact location—that was what they'd taught him at the Farm.

Joe chuckled. "Alright… I'll see you at twenty hundred, at 35th and M Streets. There's a joint there called Joe's. I'll be in the back." He hesitated for a second. "Are you alright?"

Jack suppressed a sigh. "I don't know, Joe. Hoping you'll tell me… See you at eight. Thanks again." He hung up quickly and walked out of the phone booth.

Joe's was a small, semi-dark place with a low ceiling and the ambiance of Prohibition times. The bearded bartender nodded to Jack ambivalently and turned to the small TV set at the end of the bar.

Joe was smoking in a small cubicle in the corner at the back, an empty tumbler in front of him. He looked rumpled with his jacket off, his tie loosened. Jack had never seen his mentor drinking hard liquor before, only wine, and as far as he knew, Joe didn't smoke either. It seemed to Jack that Joe had aged more in the last year than in the previous five.

Must be all those rolled up Soviet agents that were taking a toll on him—six or seven of them by now. Yeah, it was the foreign agents that Joe Cohen had always felt so protective about, not the case officers, his compatriots. _Never_ case officers. Foreign agents risked their lives for America, he said—which implied that case officers didn't. Why, they all had diplomatic immunity, didn't they? The worst that could happen to a case officer in a foreign country was that he or she got caught, was declared _persona non grata_ and sent officers were replaceable. Disposable. They were just pawns in Joe Cohen's grand games. Now Jack understood why some of them resented the SE Head of Ops. And why had he thought that Joe would help _him_? 'Cause he had been Joe's… He'd been nothing to Joe! Or because he was _the _case officer in Joe Cohen's special op? But then again, he never gave a shit about his case officers...

"Jack, good to see you. Have a seat." Joe waved at the chair across the table. "A drink? Do you drink?" He was already loose-tongued. And he didn't offer Jack his hand.

"Good evening, Joe. Thanks for agreeing to see me at such a short notice." Jack sat down, ignoring his mentor's provocative question, trying to figure how he should start, with Joe being in his out-of-the-office mood.

"Always a pleasure to see you, Jack." He smirked amiably.

Jack cringed inside, but tried to keep his expression agreeable. "Thanks," he mumbled.

"I'm going to have a bite. Will you join me?"

Any other time Jack would have probably found some excuse not to, but today wasn't that other time. He nodded, "Yeah. Thanks, Joe."

"Good." Joe smiled, looking pleased, and waved at the man behind the bar.

When they'd placed their orders and the waitress who brought Jack his beer and Joe another double scotch had left, the older man leaned back and said, "So, what's the urgency?"

"I need your help, Joe." He hated to admit it, but didn't really have a choice.

"Oh? Thought you didn't want any help from me." There was an uncomfortable pause, during which Joe watched Jack tauntingly, before he asked seriously, "What happened?"

Jack wanted to snarl at him 'You and your fucking Seawater Op happened', but bit his tongue. Instead he said, "I'm booked for a polygraph test on Monday morning." He stared back at his mentor, who was looking at him quizzically now, and stated flatly, "I can't do that."

Nothing on Joe's face changed; only the playful shine in his eyes dimmed. "Why?"

The question took Jack aback. "Because of the Seawater Op… And because you said I would be exempt if I'd accept to run it… the target."

Joe thought about it for a second. "What happened?" This time it was the Head of Ops in Joe asking, staid and in control.

"I made another move on him."

"When?"

"Over a week ago. When I reported on the power plant incident." Joe Cohen didn't say anything, just kept staring at him expectantly, so Jack continued, trying to steel himself, to master his voice and facial expression, "I was at his place. Brought him a birthday present before my departure. We had a few drinks, for his birthday. So I, um, took the opportunity and… um, made a move." He shrugged awkwardly and took a deep breath, trying to loosen the tight knot in his gut.

"Did you…?" Joe raised his eyebrows.

"No. Just gave him uh..." he mouthed 'blowjob' and bit on the inside of his cheek, disgusted with himself.

But Joe was not done questioning him yet. "Was he aware?"

"I think he was."

"You think?"

"He was."

"And? What did he say afterwards?"

"Nothing. Hasn't said a word about it since… Anyway, his grandfather called while I was there. Asked him my home number so that he could call me to cancel the trip to America. He'd been asked to join the extraordinary commission formed in relation to the power plant incident. I told the boy to call me at home to deliver his grandfather's message. Then I reported the accident to Mark right after."

Joe flinched at the name and Jack froze. _Mark Morris?!_

"Was it Mark?... I was at the cafeteria the other day and heard that—"

"Fucking place!" The older man bristled. "Doesn't anybody know what 'classified' means anymore?"

Jack gazed at him silently, feeling sorry for his mentor—must be hard losing those you care about… No, he didn't want to think about it. Not right now.

Joe took his silence as a wordless question. He sighed heavily and rubbed a hand over his face.

"Another ambush… I knew this fucker would screw up again!" he spat out and turned to wave at the bartender who had been ignoring them since their drinks had been served.

The waitress delivered their order—braised lamb shank with mint gremolata and spring vegetables, as Joe had recommended. She asked them if they wanted anything else, and left when Joe said 'Not now'.

"Was it EASTER?" Jack asked quietly after a while—they must have hardly any agents left in Moscow by now.

Joe didn't respond, continued chewing on his food, his eyes locked with Jack's.

Shit, this one wasn't even KGB. In fact, he was the last of the three civilian agents they had had—a scientific source working at a research institute far to the east of Moscow. He hadn't even been very active, if Jack remembered correctly from his pre-assignment read-in.

"Has the leak been found?" He knew he wasn't cleared for this information, but asked anyway.

Again, Joe didn't answer, instead turned to beckon for another bourbon coke. So, the answer was probably negative, Jack figured, his spirit sinking.

After the waitress had brought Joe his drink, they ate in silence for a couple of minutes, each deep in his own thoughts. Then Jack asked cautiously, "You said 'again'."

Joe looked up from his plate, a lost expression on his face.

"You said 'he screwed up _again_'."

Joe held his eyes for a moment. "Didn't they tell you about it at the cafeteria?" he asked sarcastically. He put down his knife and fork, sighed and shook his head in disbelief. "Son of a bitch was on a night run last month. Got disoriented. Was drunk, probably. Took a wrong turn and ended up—you won't believe this…" He paused for effect. "At the gate of the HQ of the First fucking Directorate!"

Jack stared at him with his mouth opened. The HQ of the First Chief Directorate of the KGB[1] in the southern suburb of Moscow? Was he serious?

"That's right. Un-fucking-believable!" Joe swore under his breath.

"What happened then?"

"He was detained for a few minutes, questioned, then released. Or so he reported… And I have to believe this, huh?... Fucking amateurs! " He picked up his fork and attacked his lamb shank.

Jack had never heard Joe bitching so bitterly before. He wished he'd known what to say. "Do you _have _to?" he asked quietly.

Joe's head jerked up at that. "Don't have a choice. He's one of the DCI's old buddies' offspring. Hope the old man knows now that being a shrewd investment banker doesn't necessarily make someone a good field officer."

So Mark Morrison had once been an investment banker then. Now Jack understood where his arrogance was coming from—an investment banker from Wall Street. Christ, what were all these people doing at the Agency—investment bankers, lawyers, Peace Corp volunteers, God knew who else? No wonder the place was leaking like a sieve.

They worked on their food in silence for a couple of minutes, then Jack said cautiously, "About my test on Monday… Can you do something about it?"

Joe didn't respond right away, looked at Jack thoughtfully for a moment or two. "With all the shit going on over there, _everybody_ coming back has to take the test," he said finally, rather unconvincingly, like he doubted the validity of his own words.

"I won't be able to pass it if they ask whether I'm hiding anything. I'll have to tell them… about Seawater Op." Jack held the eyes of his Head of Ops, his jaw clenched.

Joe knitted his eyebrows, his gaze heavy on Jack's face. "You will, won't you?"

"You're not leaving me a choice, Joe. I can't be caught lying. And I can't be thrown out… like that guy Ward." He shook his head stubbornly. "I can't, Joe. I can't." Not when he _had_ to go back to Moscow.

There was a long pause, by the end of which Jack thought he was going to explode any moment now.

Finally Joe sighed, picked up his fork again. "Let's finish the dinner and we'll see."

Jack got back to his small rented studio just off Dupont Circle shortly after 11:00 p.m. with a bottle of cheap whiskey, two slices of carrot cake and a candle from a convenience store nearby. He put the cakes on two saucers and set them on the low coffee table, lit the candle, poured two fingers of the whiskey into two teacups each and placed them by the cakes. Then he sat down on the tiny couch and took one cup.

"Happy birthday, Ennis," he whispered and downed the content of his cup in one gulp, the way the Russians did it. He put the cup carefully back on the table, sat staring at the candle flame for a minute or two, then reached for the other cup. "And I _will_ be back, don't you doubt it for a minute, friend," he said, louder this time, and gulped down the second whiskey.

For the next two days, except for a short outing for snacks, coke and cigarettes, Jack stayed put in his tiny apartment, waiting for Joe's call. But the Head of Ops didn't call the next day, or the following day. So by midnight Sunday, Jack had a script in his head of what he was going to say at the test. He didn't intend to tell them everything, just that he was running a special, deep cover op in Moscow, reporting directly to the SE Division Head of Ops. As such, he could give no answer whatsoever to some of the test questions because they were directly linked to the op. And if they needed to know more, they could go talk to Joe Cohen. He couldn't say anything else.

With that, he took a gulp of whiskey on an empty stomach, straight from the bottle, brushed his teeth and went to bed.

On Monday morning Jack showed up at the Office of the Security for his polygraph test five minutes before eleven. Feeling drained and exhausted from lack of sleep, for once he didn't bother with small talk with the surly team assistant who logged him in and left him to wait at an empty desk outside the interview room.

At 11:10 a.m. the assistant brought him a glass of water and told him that his interviewer was running a little late, that he should be there in ten or fifteen minutes, and left.

At 11:25 a.m. she reappeared with a mug of tea this time, looking both annoyed and apologetic. She told Jack that his interviewer had been called in for an urgent meeting and asked Jack to wait for another twenty minutes. Here was some tea, and yes, he could smoke here if he wished.

When the woman returned at 11:50 a.m., she looked like she was going to kill someone. She made an effort to smile at Jack though, apologized to him and told him that his test had been postponed and he would be advised of a new date shortly.

Jack rolled his eyes and smiled at her, picked up his shoulder bag, said 'see you again soon' and left.

He headed down to the cafeteria, bought a ham and cheese sandwich, a coffee, and sat down in the far corner with his back to the room. He didn't manage to finish his lunch: halfway through he stood up abruptly, rushed to the rest room and threw up the contents of his stomach into the nearest toilet bowl.

When on Thursday the call from the Agency finally came through, it was Donna, Joe's assistant: Jack was scheduled to meet with the SE Division's chief and the Head of Ops on Monday, at 12:00 p.m. And he was to bring along his report on the latest development of his operation, which he would write first thing on Monday morning in Joe Cohen's office.

* * *

A/N: [1] The **First Chief Directorate **of KGB was the organization responsible for foreign operations and intelligence collection activities by the training and management of the covert agents, intelligence collection management, and the collection of political, scientific and technical intelligence. (from Wikipedia)

* * *

Soundtrack: Shape of My Heart, Sting


	27. Chapter 27

- 27 -

_May 5, Monday. 11:43 p.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_You're in the air right now, heading home. Your home. I thought of your apartment on Proletarskaya as your home. But of course it's not. Your home is some distant place where I'm not and will never be. _

_You said you'll be back, that I must not go around doubting about it. I don't doubt you, cowboy. Not you. It is__ chance that I doubt—I have been given a chance once already; I might not be given another one. What will I do then?_

_I shouldn't think that way. I said I will wait, so I should. It's only 22 days. You will be back on May 26. So you said. I didn't see you for longer before; more than a month; twice. You were out of the country too. So why this heavy feeling now, like I'll never see you again? _

_Perhaps it's because of all these things happening lately. Too many unfortunate things are piling up. I have a premonition that things will change dramatically. Forever. Don't know what, don't know when, just feel that they will. And I admit: I dread it, whatever it is. _

_E._

_..._

_May 6, Tuesday. 9:37pm_

_Dear Jack,_

_I've found Grandfather's original paper on NW today. I've read it. It's not_

_Mother just called. Grandfather returned from Ch. yesterday, but spent the whole day in Kremlin for meetings. Came home only in the evening. Mother says he's not well. Asked me to come over. I'm going now. Will tell you about the NW study when you come back. If you're still interested in it._

_E._

_..._

_May 10, Saturday. Midnight. _

_Don't know where to start. So I'll start from the beginning._

_I went to Grandfather's place right after Mother's distressed call. It was close to 11pm by the time I got there. Mother started crying the moment I walked in. Said that Grandpa was sick, hasn't eaten anything since the day before and chain smoking. He never smoked before. _

_I went to his room. He was sitting at his large desk, writing something, a burning cigarette in the ashtray full of cigarette butts. It was almost dark in the room. The only light was coming from the old desk lamp with a stained glass shade. But even with that weak lighting I noticed that he looked different. At first I couldn't understand what it was. But then realized that he looked very tanned. I asked him how it was at Ch. and if it was very warm there. He looked at me for a moment without understanding, then laughed sadly and said 'It is hot, E., too hot.' And I realized then that the tan was from the radiation he'd received. That's why he is sick and can't eat. And he's smoking to kill the taste of metal in his mouth—that's what it tastes when you get a high dose of nuclear radiation. I've read it in a text book._

_God almighty, this isn't just an accident. It's a catastrophe of mass proportions! And it's not yet resolved: the reactor's core is still burning and a solution how to extinguish it hasn't been found yet. Grandpa is going back there tomorrow, together with Legasov, to continue fighting it._

_Legasov__1__ is the head of the emergency committee they requested to be formed. It's him who called Grandpa and asked him to join the committee. Perhaps he remembered that Grandpa had opposed the current design of the stations housing RBMK reactors. Or perhaps he remembered that Grandpa is heading an international project on the consequences of a nuclear catastrophe. Either way, Grandpa is the one who can tell them the truth. _

_In the beginning, Grandpa didn't want to tell us anything about it. But yesterday, after he returned from his medical checkup, he told me about it. And asked me not to tell anybody else, not even Mother._

_I'm lost for words. It's horrifying. Reactor No. 4 was completely destroyed by explosion, exposing the core to the air. Grandpa thinks it's a core meltdown, but it can't be verified. Tons of uranium dioxide fuel and fission products have been released into the air. And of course, the burning radiation-contaminated graphite. Grandpa says radiation dosimeters go off-scale the moment they come near the site. So they simply don't know what the radiation levels are. Perhaps hundreds of times above the acceptable levels. Grandpa thinks more. But no one knows for sure._

_No one has ever imagined this can happen to us. No one was prepared. They have evacuated everybody from P., the small town near the station. More than 60,000. The core and graphite are still burning and they are afraid it can trigger another explosion at No. 3. Then they will have to evacuate settlements within 100km radius, not 30km like now. Grandpa says firefighters and miners are trying to contain the burning graphite by pumping liquid nitrogen into reactor through a tunnel they have dug under the reactor room. They can only stay there for a minute at a time, the radiation levels are so high. _

_And even with that, I think he's not telling all. _

_How terrifyingly ironic: we've been modeling and debating over climatic consequences of a nuclear war. And here it is: people are dying even without a nuclear winter; all that was needed was an accident at an electro station. I know they are dying: it's inevitable with what they are doing, at that level of radiation. And Legasov and Grandpa have to ask all those people—firefighters, soldiers—to go there to clean up the mess. That's what Grandpa is not telling. That's what has been keeping him sleepless since he got back almost a week ago. That's why L. has returned to Ch. on Wednesday. That's why Grandpa he is going back next Monday._

_I wish I could do something to help. I asked Grandpa to take me with him. Of course he said no, that I shouldn't even think of it. I feel so useless sitting here, doing nothing, speculating, while Grandpa and all those people are dying, fighting to keep all of us safe._

_I promised Grandpa not to tell anybody. But I will keep this entry. We need to remember what we do to ourselves._

_..._

_May 14, Wednesday. 11:07p.m._

_Just come back from Mother's place. Stayed there with her since Grandpa left on Monday. She hasn't been very well lately—gets tired easily, sleeps a lot, but doesn't seem to be getting enough sleep. Maybe she works too much. She has finished her book about the history of our family, the Volkonskys and the Rezanovs. Not sure when she will be able to publish it, though: it's her own initiative, not any agency's order. So she needs to find a publishing house that will agree to publish the book and pay her some money. _

_I've started cutting out and collecting Ch. news clips. Maybe Grandpa will write a book about it someday. Or maybe I'll it write myself. _

_This is the summary of what has been happening here since the moment of explosion._

_April 26, around 1am: explosion at reactor No. 4. Apparently the politburo was informed right away, because they called L. and told him to form a scientific committee to look at the accident. L. left to Ch. after calling Grandpa. Grandpa called me to ask for J's phone number. I called J to tell him that Grandpa was not going to Am. _

_April 27: Grandpa arrived at Ch. In the afternoon L. finally managed to persuade the local authorities to start evacuating people from Priapyat, the town closest to Ch. Soldiers and helicopters arrived._

_April 28: the official announcement about Ch. was read on the evening news program on TV at 9pm_._ It was published in newspapers the next day: exactly 22 words. Twenty two damned words! _

_April 29: _Izvestia_ seems to be the only newspaper carrying new about Ch. It said 2 persons died at explosion, thousands evacuated (Grandpa said over 60,000), but situation 'stable' and medical assistance being administered to those in need. They also mentioned about the scientific commission lead by a former head of construction for oil and gas industry (is this a joke?) to investigate the cause of the accident. How about L. and Grandpa killing themselves trying to find a solution to their fucking problem?!_

_April 30: didn't find anything in newspapers on Ch. _

_May 1: in a very short news, they admitted that 197 people injured and 2 died. Also said that the damaged reactor was 'shut down'. What does that mean? Grandfather (who came back to Moscow on May 5) said that they were still trying to bury the reactor with tons of lead, boron, dolomite, sand and clay that were being dropped down from helicopters. And despite all this, they went ahead and held festive demonstrations and parades on Red Square and in Kiev on the occasion of May 1 Day. Why am I even surprised? Been living here long enough to know that they don't care._

_May 2: nothing in our newspapers or TV. But I ran into Grisha at the MGU who said 'a friend' had been listing to a 'foreign radio'. They reported that B. Yeltsin__2__, the Secretary of the CP of Moscow, who was on a visit in Hamburg, gave an interview to foreign press and said that 49,000 people are evacuated, 200 are ill, 25 are critically ill. He also said the fire has been extinguished by helicopters dropping wet sand, lead and boron on the reactor, but it is still smoldering. A brave man. Nothing like this has been reported here. I wonder what will happen to him when he returns to Moscow?_

_May 3: nothing in the news again. Grandpa said politburo members with a small entourage arrived in Ch. on Sat. They left the same day._

_May 4: nothing again._

_May 5: L. and Grandpa returned to Moscow to report to the politburo. Also to Hans Blix, the chairman of International Atomic Energy Agency who arrived with a small group on this day. Finally _Pravda _published_ _a longer article. Perhaps in relation to H.B.'s arrival. They admitted the fire was still burning and the situation was very difficult. They said firemen were fighting the blaze on top of the wrecked building, their boots stuck in melted bitumen because the temperature was so high. They were courageous men, it said. What they didn't say was that those courageous men were clueless of what they were facing and will die, if have not yet. There is no way one can survive after a few minutes near the exposed core of a nuclear reactor. What they also didn't mention was the radiation readings and how many people were evacuated._

_May 6: a politburo member held a news conference with journalists. The text was then published and televised. Finally they mentioned that 49,000 people were evacuated ON THE 2__ND__ DAY after explosion! 204 hospitalized, 18 in bad condition. He didn't say anything about how much radiation had been released, though. _

_May 7+8: news on _Vremya, _then in newspapers next day_. _Cleaning up continues, including building up the banks of Prypiat River to protect it from potential radioactive contamination. Am. and Israeli doctors are helping with bone marrow transplant. They say it's the only remedy from acute radiation. And a surprise: _Soviet Russia_ newspaper carried a quote of a communist party official from Kiev who admitted that 'there was some lack of coordination' before and after the evacuation of people from the zone._

_May 9: _Pravda_ published the interview with academician Velikhov. He is a nuclear and plasma physicist, no. 2 at the Academy of Sciences. He indicated that the core may be melting, that the situation is grave; that they are digging a tunnel under the reactor. Then the article said that regrettably the struggle is not finished and there are thousands of people fighting to contain it every day. Grandpa finally told me about what's going on there. Perhaps as a birthday present: to show me that he thinks of me as a grown up person whom he can trust. I sincerely hope so._

_May 10: the 6__th__ statement by the Council of Min. since the accident issued. It says the reactor core is cooling down and radiation levels around Ch. are dropping sharply. Good news, just a little too late. Then several newspapers mention a one and a half hour news conference the IAEA delegation gave journalists upon their return from Ch. Morris Rosen, the director of safety of the IAEA, said they had flown in a helicopter near the reactor and seen a light grey smoke (not black as before) which indicated that the fire was extinguished. He also said (or at least our newspapers quoted him as saying) that 'relatively little' radiation is escaping from the reactor now and there are no hot spots inside the core. That's not what Grandpa is saying. So who's lying here—an IAEA representative (an Am.), or our newspapers? Three pieces of positive news: (a) No. 3 is intact and has been shutdown; (b) our side has agreed to provide radiation readings around Ch. to the IAEA every day; (c) they are going to build a sarcophagus over the reactor. How? It's still smoldering._

_May 11: Grandpa went back to Ch. Mother was very upset, spent the whole day in her room. I stayed with her. _Vremya_ showed another interview with academician Velikhov, from Kiev. They also showed a very short documentary taken from a moving car in the danger zone: abandoned streets, traffic patrol in masks, people in white coats and masks working in a building inside the zone. Velikhov said Ch. could have been a catastrophe, but the worse is over and Ch. will go down in history as the worst nuclear accident in the world's history. Could have been? _

_May 12: 7__th__ official statement since the accident. _Pravda, thenVremya_ said 6 people died and 35 in grave conditions. I assume in addition to the previous 2 + 18. The true effects of the radiation are starting to show. Unfortunately, this is not the last time we hear bad news. They also said that 3 local party officials were disciplined for late evacuation and failing to give timely information about the accident. To whom? The politburo knew about it from day one: hadn't they ordered a scientific commission to be formed, headed by Legasov?_

_May 13: _Pradva_ published a statement about the number of people died and in critical condition by now: 6 and 35 in all. It also quoted acad. Velikhov as saying that the scientist averted the catastrophe by pumping the water (from the cooling reservoir under the reactor) and drilling holes (also under the reactor) to draw the heat out. _Soviet Rossiya_ quoted him saying that 5 people, including a deputy director of national atomic energy agency, volunteered to dive into radioactive water in the reservoir in an attempt to drain it from under the reactor. He said their effort was succeeded. What he didn't say is that those additional 4 deaths and 17 critically ill are probably those who worked under the burning reactor. _

_May 14: Gorbachev finally appeared on _Vremya_ just now. He talked about half an hour, admitted that the accident was of a magnitude never experienced in the history of mankind, conveyed his deepest condolences to families of those who died and suffered. The toll is now 9 deaths and 299 people hospitalized with radiation sickness. Over 92,000 have been evacuated. He also proposed to set up an international system for early warning and disclosure of nuclear accidents and also a system of rapid mutual assistance. He mentioned 2 Am. doctors, helping with bone marrow transplant for those who received heavy doses of radiation. He thanked the 2 Am. doctors working here, also countries that offered help; but condemned Am. and Germany for their 'mountains of lies'—about thousands of casualties and desolate Kiev. He obviously reads what we don't have access to. Perhaps I should also listen to VOA or Radio Europe—maybe I can get more information from them. Besides Gorbachev's appearance, several newspapers published: interviews with firefighters, who said 4 of their friends died 15 days after fighting fire on top of the reactor building; that head of foreign diplomatic missions in Moscow are invited to visit areas around Ch.; that Intourist continues providing its touristic services to more than 1,300 foreign tourist currently in Kiev; that Ukraine has pulled all milk-based products from shops and markets. _

_..._

_May 15, Thursday. 8:47p.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_Where are you now? I wish you were here. But I'm also glad that you are not. This thing with Am. diplomats caught spying continues: they announced another arrest yesterday. The 3__rd__ one in less than a year. _

_Last night I was busy writing up the summary of Ch. events and missed it on the news. Today I opened a newspaper and found it: Mark Morris, a Defense Dept. attaché from Am. Embassy, was arrested last week and declared 'persona non grata'. The article says he was meeting with a Soviet citizen identified as an agent of Am. intelligence services and that he carried documents that proved his activities incompatible with his diplomatic status. _

_That's exactly what they said in your boss's case too, isn't it? Not even 3 months have passed since William was caught and expelled 'for spying'. You said he had been having an affair with a local woman. What about this Mark Morris? Has he also been having an affair with a local woman? So how many Am. diplomats are having affairs with local women here? And then there's JT, who is __having__an affair__ being loved by a local guy. _

_I'm sorry, cowboy. I don't know what to think anymore. Too many things have transpired lately. I feel like I'm drowning under the weight of events that keep happening—to me, to others because of me. To all of us in this country, because of who we are and what we did. Or didn't do and let this happen. Now I keep thinking: what could we have done differently and why didn't we do it? What can I do not to let it happen again?_

_I wish you were here, in my arms. I'm grateful that you're here, in my thoughts. And I will keep you safe in my heart. Forever._

_E._

_..._

_May 18, Sunday. 10:40 p.m._

_Dear Jack,_

_I've been re-reading the news clippings about Ch., thinking about what Grandpa said, thinking about our NW project and Grandpa's original study; about why he did what he did; about me and what I'm doing with myself. _

_Some things Gorbachev said on TV have stuck in my head. He said: "For the first time we encountered such a tremendous force going out of control." And "The accident at Chernobyl showed again what an abyss will open if nuclear war befalls mankind." _

_Ch. is nothing—I repeat, __'__**nothing'**__— compared to a drop of one modern nuclear bomb. Yet, the radiation level in Ch. is perhaps hundreds of times higher than in Hiroshima and Nagasaki combined. You were so right, my love, when you asked what would happen to all the people in case of a major nuclear war. This is what will happen: we will all die slow and painful death. And the few of us who survive, sick and injured, will __then__ have to endure the nuclear winter. _

_I think Grandpa blames himself for not standing his ground back in the 60s when he opposed the design of the RBKM reactors. Perhaps he feels he should have fought them back then. Or at least should have tried to steer them to a safer solution. Then Ch. might not have happened. But he's not an engineer, not sure what he could have done. Now he's trying to redeem himself by putting himself on the frontline, trying to help in any way he humanly can. _

_And so this has led me to ask myself: what the hell am I doing? I can do more than just dragging my feet to and from Grandpa's lab, toying with the idea of quitting physics and joining the ranks of wild, defiant rock musicians. I have been given skills and knowledge to do what not too many others can: try to make the application of nuclear physics safer. Maybe I won't achieve much in my lifetime, but at least I will be able to say with clear consciousness at the end of my life that I have done my best to contribute to this. Something that Grandpa pains over now. Poor Grandpa!_

_I told you that I wanted to quit studying and play music. But now I've decided I should complete my studies and do something useful. Perhaps I should start taking engineering courses in addition to nuclear physics. I'll talk to Grandpa about this when he returns. _

_You may think that I'm just a fickle little boy. I sincerely hope you won't. No, I KNOW you will support me when I explain to you why I want to do this. I think I know you well by now. I can always write and play music in my free time, right? I can do both. I will, Jack: I'll play for you. I think you like me playing music. _

_By the way, Artyom called yesterday, said he and Alla Pugacheva__3__ are organizing a big concert for Chernobyl on May 30. He asked if we want to perform there too. If we do, he will put us first on the list, so that we can do our number and catch the night train to Leningrad. I said yes. I'm sure the boys will be happy to do it too. We will be late for the opening of the rock festival, but it doesn't matter. We have to do this: it's for Chernobyl, for all the people whose life it has ruined._

_Will you be back by then? Will you be able to come to Leningrad?_

_So many things I want to tell you. And most of all that I love you. Very much._

_Yours always._

_E._

* * *

A/N:

1 **Valery Legasov** was a prominent Soviet inorganic chemist and a member of the Academy of Sciences of the USSR. He is most famous for his work as the chief of the committee investigating the **Chernobyl disaster**. He committed suicide on April 27, 1988—its second anniversary. You can watch a documentary about him on youtube called 'The Mystery of Valery Legasov's Death' (with Engl subtitles).

2 **Boris Yeltsin,** a Soviet/Russian politician and the first President of the Russian Federation (from 1991 to 1999).

3 **Alla Pugacheva** (born 15 April 1949), is а Soviet and Russian musical performer. Her career started in 1965 and continues to this day. She enjoyed an iconic status across the former Soviet Union as the most successful Soviet performer in terms of record sales and popularity. (from Wikipedia)


	28. Chapter 28

- 28 -

On Friday morning Jack woke up later than usual thanks to a few shots of whiskey with a cold BLT sandwich from the convenience store the night before. He squinted at the crystal strings of sunlight stealing through the heavy, moss-green curtains. Then he rolled over and closed his eyes again. He didn't have to go anywhere: for the USIA, he was on leave; for the Agency—well, he wasn't expected to show up at the office till Monday morning. He had three full days to do whatever he wanted, go wherever he wished and didn't have to report his whereabouts to anyone. He was home—well, kind of—and for once could be just another guy on the street.

He tried to get back to sleep, but couldn't shake off the restlessness that had suddenly come over him. So he got up, took a shower, put on his vacation garb—a pair of old, faded jeans, a white t-shirt and canvas shoes— and went out in search of a hearty American breakfast. He strolled toward Georgetown, looking for the first diner that appealed to him.

As he was crossing 27th Street, a flash of blue in a shop window caught his eye and he turned the corner to check it out.

It was a small coffee shop with white cream cupcakes arranged in a basket in its window. The topmost cupcake was crowned with three bright blue cornflowers. Jack hesitated for a second and stepped inside.

The shop was empty, except for a long-haired, pimply youth behind the counter. Jack asked for a mug of coffee, two raspberry and two blueberry cupcakes, fished out a fresh issue of Washington Post from the news stand by the door and sat down at the tiny table by the window. Then, as if the thought had just occurred to him, Jack pointed at the cornflower cake and said he wanted it too.

The boy gave him a blank stare at first, then shrugged and went to retrieve it from the shop window.

Jack took a bite of a raspberry cake, unfolded the newspaper and scanned the front page.

'House OKs Budget with Defense Cuts'. 'Reagan to See Jewish Leaders, Push Saudi Sales'. 'State Dept. Employee Fired for Leaking Data to Media'. _Hmm, interesting…_ "The official, identified only as an appointed official with a civil service ranking of GS-15, leaked information involving U.S. diplomatic relations, not data of a military nature, said department spokesman Charles E. Piedmont." _Right, here too…_** '**More Chernobyl Deaths Called 'Unavoidable' : But L.A. Doctor Says U.S.-Soviet Team May Save Many of Most Ill'.

A thought occurred to him that Prof. Volkonsky was probably still there, in the midst of the action—from the little interaction he had had with the academic so far, Jack thought he wasn't a man who'd worry about his safety in the face of calamity.

He fumbled with the newspaper and found the page featuring the article.

"MOSCOW … Dr. Robert P. Gale, a UCLA bone marrow specialist, said 28 people with radiation illness are in the worst condition, adding, "We hope that a substantial number of these patients will survive." Seven others already have died from the effects of radiation…"

_Shit._

Jack put down the newspaper and took a sip of coffee. Eyeing the three blue cornflowers, he wondered what Ennis was reading about the accident back in Moscow.

Chernobyl had been a major item in the news every single day since he got back home. On the other hand, there had hardly been anything about it in the Soviet press the few days before Jack's departure and he guessed very little had been published by the Soviets since. He wished he could share what he had read with Ennis, maybe talk about it with him or just listen to Ennis's rumbling voice telling him about nuclear fusion, or fission. Or Soviet rock bands. Or whatever he wanted to, Jack didn't mind one bit, as long as his friend—his best friend!—was talking.

By the time he reached the classifieds section, Jack was on the second mug of coffee and there was only the cornflower crowned cupcake left on the plate in front of him. He pulled the flowers out of the cake carefully, licked the cream off their short stubby stems and put them by the plate. Then he bit off a piece of the cake and idly scanned the ads.

His interest was piqued when he got to the real estate column and noticed a couple of ads for farmland. One of them was for a "secluded mountain horse farm in Highland county VA. 25 acres w/300sf 1.5 story cabin; 10-horse stable, incl. horses; small barn; mountain-top open pasture and meadow; 20% wooded; fenced perimeter; spring, creek."

A small, secluded horse farm for 10 horses; a cabin; mountains, woods and a creek.

_C'mon, Jack, it's Virginia, not California. You don't want to be near this place… when it's time to quit. _

_It's just the right size, about the right place…_

_You don't have the money, remember?_

_So what? Haven't seen a ranch… a farm with horses for…" _

Since last summer when Ennis had taken him to the Russian village by the river to see horses. _What were they? Oh yeah, Orlov trotters… _ Then the next day he had taken Jack to that fairytale place—a cornflower heaven… And he'd also said he wanted to visit Jack's ranch one day…

By the time he took his rented Chevy out of town the next day, heading west then south-west, Jack knew most of what he needed about the little horse farm on a mountain near the West Virginia border. He even had a story for Mrs. Sutton, the recently widowed owner of the property, hoping that she would let him wander around the farm and horses after his admission that he didn't have money to buy it yet, even at the rock-bottom price it was selling for.

Three and a half hours later he stopped at a diner just outside Monterey, lingering there for a while so that he wouldn't be intruding during lunch time. It was well after two when he got into his car again and headed further southwest along Jackson River Road.

It was a beautiful spring day. The sun shined radiantly on the luminous fresh green grass and a gentle breeze caressed the white and pink blossoms of apple, cherry and plum trees. Jack wished he could share all this with Ennis, just as he had done with Jack the previous year in the Russian countryside. _Maybe one day…_

He followed the directions he'd been given and soon turned left onto the country road that led up the mountain. The simple, wooden gate to the farm was open. A carved wooden plaque over the entrance read 'Welcome to Rainbow Creek Farm' and on the right post was a small For Sale sign.

When Jack drove slowly in, he couldn't see anyone at first around the low log building off to the left that looked like the stable. Then he noticed a man in dark blue denims and a white Stetson who was saddling a bay mare in front of the stable, his back to the path leading onto the farm. Something in his bearing disturbed Jack, but he couldn't immediately figure what it was. Then, as he heard the sound of the approaching car, the man turned around.

Jack's heart leaped to his throat. He took a couple of deep breaths, stopped the car, got out and headed toward the man.

Who was young, tall and lithe. And blond.

Someone Jack didn't know.

Someone who could be Ennis. For the man looked amazingly like Ennis in cowboy wear.

The cowboy watched him with amiable expectation, as Jack strolled up to him.

"Hello. Sorry for intruding without an appointment. I was passing though Monterey and heard that your farm is up for sale. So I thought I'd swing by. My name's Jack Twist." He stepped up and thrust his hand out, his smile wide and apologetic.

The young man returned the smile and shook Jack's hand firmly. "No problem. I'm Tom Cole. It's my aunt's ranch, uh, farm. And yes, she's selling." He had a heavy Texas drawl and his hand was large, rough and callused like Jack's—a cowboy's hand, not a musician's.

Tom turned out to be from San Angelo, Texas. He had come up there with his mother, Mrs. Sutton's sister, to help his recently widowed aunt Rose to sell the farm and move to Texas where she was originally from. Jack told him that he was of a ranching background too, from Wyoming, now working in Washington, and that he'd been missing the ranch life something fierce. They chatted for while and Tom offered to show him around the farm, even after Jack's admission that he couldn't afford a ranch right now—not just yet. The young man brought another horse out of the stable, a gentle buckskin mare called Sandy, told Jack to saddle it himself, and they set out for a slow ride to the pasture on top of the mountain.

Jack spent over three hours at the farm. He went up to the lush meadow with the stunning view on rolling mountains all around, touched and smelled the horses, then rode with Tom down and along the lazy creek, the namesake of the place. When they returned to the stable he brushed down Sandy and met with Mrs. Sutton and her sister, Mrs. Cole, who insisted he have tea with them before leaving. Then Tom saw him to his car, shook his hand cordially and slipped a scrap of paper into Jack's hand, saying if he ever wanted to buy a ranch down Texas, he knew whom he should call.

It was almost midnight when Jack got back to his apartment, subdued and pensive. He stood for a long time in the shower, streams of hot water cascading down on his head, trying and failing to push away the utterly absurd thought that had been circling in his mind ever since he left Rainbow Creek Farm: that it could be his ranch. And it probably would be one day. But why couldn't it be Ennis riding it with him—on his ranch, on _their_ ranch? Why?

On Sunday the edginess returned, right from the early morning. Jack briefly entertained the idea of catching up with some of his colleagues from the USIA, but couldn't muster the energy to put himself in an appropriate mood. So he went for breakfast in Georgetown on his own again, rummaging through all newspapers on the stand for news from the Soviet Union, feeling as though he had to find something important there.

When he was done with his breakfast, but not with his craving for more Russian news, he decided to spend the morning at one place where he knew he would be able find what his mind needed—Hillwood Estate on the edge of Rock Creek Park in northwest Washington. Jack had learnt about this place a few years ago, when he was only exploring Washington DC. He had visited this private museum a few times, honing his knowledge of Russian culture on its large collection of Russian decorative art, paintings and Faberge.

He spent a couple of hours wandering around the mansion and the gardens. But it wasn't till he got to the little wooden _dacha_ tucked in a far corner of the large estate that Jack realized what it was that he felt: he missed _everything_ he'd left behind in Moscow.

He was home, in his America, living his personal American dream. But instead of hanging out, playing sports, or drinking beer and shooting shit with his American friends, he was moping around, feeling blue, missing Russia… and the Russians. Whom he would leave behind in a near future not to see ever again. It didn't make any sense.

He left the museum shortly after that, returned to Georgetown and spent the rest of the day hanging around with strangers at a few bars downtown.

When he got back to his apartment at around eleven, Jack sat staring at his telephone for a long time. Then he let out a sharp exhale, picked up the phone and dialed a number that was ingrained in his mind, probably till he'd die—his ho… his _father's_ home number.

The first time Jack had called home after he'd run away to join the army was exactly a year later. The old man had hung up on him the moment he'd said 'hi dad, it's Jack'. He had tried three more times after that first call: the first two nobody had answered; the last time was right before his departure to Moscow the previous year. The old man had answered, but was drunk as a skunk and Jack doubted the following morning his father had remembered whom he'd talked to the previous night.

The phone rang four times and a woman's voice answered, "Hello?" She sounded young. And maybe a tiny bit tipsy.

It caught Jack by surprise: a woman in his father's house… But then why not? His mother had passed away years ago and he couldn't really expect a man to live alone for the rest of his life, could he? Even an old bastard like his father…

"Good evening. Can I talk to, um, Mr. Twist, please?"

"Waittaminute, please." She didn't take the phone too far away from her face as she called out in a sing-song voice, "Johnny, someone here fer you."

_Johnny? Whatever…_

She probably held the phone out towards the old man because his voice reached Jack fairly loud and clear—he wasn't drunk yet, but already surly.

"Who's that?"

"Ah don't know, darlin'," she answered patiently. Probably had some experience.

"Then ask, woman!"

"Alright, darlin', alright."

Jack automatically made an effort not to cringe, as if she could see his expression.

"Who's asking him, please?"

"It's his son, Jack."

There was a pause, like she was digesting the news. "Ah, okay. Please hold, honey… "John, it's your son," she said a bit lower, then in a loud whisper, "You didn't tell me you had a son." She sounded like she had suddenly sobered up.

There was another pause, followed by a downpour of obscenities. "Ain't got no fucking son! Not that piece a shit! Tell that fucking pansy never to call here again!"

Apparently the woman pressed the phone to her body because the sound was suddenly muted. Then after a moment she came back on the line, sounding a little rushed, "Listen, Jack. I'm sorry, but John, your father, isn't feeling very well at the moment. Maybe he'll be better in the morning. Is there a number he can call you back?"

Jack suppressed a sigh. "Thank you ma'am. It's very kind of you. But I don't think he's gonna call me tomorrow. Or ever. Not this fucking pansy." He chucked sadly.

"I'm really sorry, honey." She was whispering now. "But he hasn't been in a good disposition lately."

_Yeah, right, since he was born probably. _"Don't worry about it, ma'am. I understand… Anyway, I wish you all the best. You sound like a kindhearted person. Don't let the old bastard kill that kindness in you. And please tell him I won't bother him ever again. Goodbye." He hung up before she could say anything else.

He was home.

...

On Monday morning, he arrived at the HQ early and headed down to the cafeteria for breakfast and news. There were only two people whom Jack didn't recognize, so he took his coffee and croissants, sat down at a table in the opposite corner and opened the Washington Post that he'd bought on the street.

Jack skimmed the front-page headlines quickly. 'Officials Identify Three Victims of Air Crashes Near Van Nuys Airport'. 'Justices OK Yard Searches From Planes. WASHINGTON — The Supreme Court today ruled that police do not need court warrants before searching from airplanes for marijuana growing in fenced-in residential yards.' 'Britain, 3 Other Nations Alert for Channel Terror'. _Yes, here it is._ 'Inquiry Set Up on Day of Blast, Soviet Declares.'

He quickly turned the page to read the article.

"May 19, 1986. Associated Press. MOSCOW — A Soviet nuclear power expert said today that the Kremlin named a panel to investigate the Chernobyl accident on the day the disaster occurred. His statement appeared to contradict assertions that Moscow was without reliable reports on the accident for two days.

Ivan Yemelyanov, first deputy director of the Soviet state institute that designed the Chernobyl reactor, said the investigating commission looking into the disaster was at work 'on the very day of the accident, April 26'.

_Of course_ it had been set up on the very first day, he knew it for certain—his best friend's grandfather had been asked to join that 'investigating commission' on the same day he was—

"Hi, Jack. Mind if I join you?"

He raised his eyes to meet LaShawn's eager, toothy smile.

"Hey, LaShawn. Of course not! Do sit down, please… So, how's your weekend?" He matched her smile with his grin, folded his newspaper and gave her his full attention.

"Great, thanks!" She put her tray down on the table and sat down. "A friend and I went to the opening of 'Top Gun'."

"You did? A fighter pilot movie, isn't it? Any good? "

"You should go see it, Jack, it's so cool! With Tom Cruise, Val Kilmer and Kelly McGillis. D'you like Kelly McGillis?"

They chatted about movies and actors for a bit, then when the topic seemed exhausted she suddenly asked, with a curious half smile, "You didn't mention last time that you were from Moscow office."

Jack blinked, but recovered quickly. "Thought you'd know eventually. If you needed to know." He shrugged, peering into her eyes with a conciliatory smile.

"I asked around. Seems like you're popular—lots of people know you." She was inspecting him with an open interest now.

"Really? I didn't know. So what do they say about me?"

"Lemme see… They say that you're—"

"Excuse the intrusion." A solidly built, military type in his early thirties was standing at their table. "Malone, George is looking for you. Something urgent 's come up." He turned to Jack. "Sorry, mate."

LaShawn's smile shrunk. "Thanks. I'll be upstairs in a minute." Her smitten little girl's tone was gone too.

"It's urgent, Malone," the man insisted.

"I heard you the first time, O'Leary." She gave him a hard stare. "Let me finish my coffee. I'll be up there in a minute."

Muttering an oath under his breath, the man turned on his heel and left.

LaShawn turned her attention back to Jack, smiled apologetically and rolled her eyes. "I don't understand why we recruit ex-military types as case officers. He's from my cohort. D'you think he'll ever be able to keep his cover? Unless they plan to place him as a mercenary, of course." She giggled and took a sip of her latte.

Jack gazed at her thoughtfully. "LaShawn Malone. A very pretty name. Very fitting." He grinned back as she beamed at him. "I used to work with someone called Randall Malone. D'you happen to know him by any chance?" he asked.

She furrowed her brow for a second, thinking, then shook her head. "Nope. Don't know anybody named Randall Malone… Anyway, I have to run now, Jack. Let's catch up again so that you can tell me about… Moscow? " She looked at him with an eager smile.

"Sure. Let's do it, LaShawn. You have a phone number?"

LaShawn nodded happily, fumbled in her purse and produced a pen. "Here's my number," she said, writing it on a napkin and pushed it toward him. "I'll see you later, Jack. Please don't wait for too long!" She flashed her teeth at him again, rose and scurried away.

Jack watched as she disappeared through the doorway. He'd surprised himself when he asked if she knew Randall Malone, since he didn't even exist. How likely was she to know Joe Cohen's alias?

Jack went up to Joe Cohen's office at 9:00 a.m. sharp and was taken to in a small office with a computer two cubicles away. Joe dropped in for a minute just as Jack was starting to type his report and instructed him to try to recall _all_ the details of Operation Light Water _only_. He held Jack's eyes till he nodded his understanding and said 'yes, sir', then added that he would be asked to report 'the rest' verbally.

Jack spent three hours writing his progress report, cross checking the dates of his recollections with the calendar on the desk. By noon, he'd written nine and a half pages. He suspected half of the details in the report weren't that essential, but he'd been told to recall _all _the details, so that's what he did.

The meeting with the Head of SE Division lasted for forty-five minutes and went pretty well. Burt Gabber was known to shout or scream sometimes, but with Jack he was almost friendly. At times the wraith-thin man seemed to be probing him, but that was to be expected: Gabber was known to be one of the most demanding spymasters the CIA ever had, Jesuitical in his approach to his work as well as his subordinates.

They went through some details of the Moscow operation, like who had approved Jack's contacts with his targets and when, and where those discussions had usually taken place. He was particularly interested in Jack's interaction with William and Mark. The Division head seemed satisfied with Jack's responses; although Jack didn't quite figure out what kind of conclusion the man had drawn from their interview. And the whole time he gave no indication that he knew about the Seawater part of the op.

Joe sat opposite Jack next to the SE Division head, remaining silent and impassive. But when Gabber asked Jack to run by him again how and where he had been when he learned about Chernobyl, Jack could feel Joe's eyes burning into him as he answered.

Later, when he reran the episode in his head, Jack couldn't decide what Joe's subtle reaction had meant. Did he doubt Jack's account about his visit to Ennis Volkonsky's place? Or did the fact that Ennis told Jack about Chernobyl mean that in Joe's mind the Russian had crossed the line: he was no longer just a potential target and but an agent. A foreign agent—the kind Joe cared about the most.

After a briefing with Joe in his office, Jack left the HQ around five o'clock feeling heady with relief. Joe had confirmed that he wouldn't have to take polygraph test ('this time', he had added, but that was fine by Jack); that the Moscow Station's secure room was being rebuilt with materials flown over from America and was not usable yet so the operational reporting remained minimal; and, finally, that he could continue developing Ennis Volkonsky. Slowly. There was no rush.

"Consider him a long term investment," Joe had said, his eyes boring into Jack's. And Jack was to come for a detailed briefing on that before his return to behind the Iron Curtain.

So maybe Joe now considered Ennis a newly recruited agent, even if he wasn't fully on board. The Russian had been compromised, therefore the ground was laid for his case officer to pitch him. It was now only a matter of time. Which also meant that from now on, Ennis Del Mar Volkonsky was under the special care and protection of the SE Division's Head of Clandestine Operations. If at any time Joe Cohen was notified by the case officer handling him that Ennis's life was in danger, the head of ops would do everything in his power, and more, to make sure that the agent remained alive. Even pull him out of the Soviet Union. And then…

_Don't even think it, Twist! It's totally ridiculous and you know it!_

_I'm not thinking anything! I've been instructed to develop him and I'm gonna do it, okay?_

_Okay. Just don't kid yourself with stupid ideas. You know it's impossible, right? _

_Right…_

…But if he was to develop Ennis, he would have to make sure that his friend had a way out. Namely Joe Cohen. That couldn't change. Therefore, Ennis must continue to be of special interest to the Agency. That is, continue to be a promising nuclear physicist, eventually working at some important, preferably 'closed' State research institution. Rock musicians were of no interest to the Agency, no matter how talented they were.

It meant that, to keep Ennis safe, Jack would have to persuade him to give up his dream. To continue with his studies and go to work for some nuclear research institute. Which was exactly the path Ennis had been on when Jack had met him the previous July.

This was on Jack's mind for the rest of the week. His annual leave was pretty much ruined—there were only five days left before he had to return to Moscow and then go to Leningrad for Ennis's show. _And_ he had to show up for the last briefing with Joe Cohen before his departure.

On Wednesday, Jack took the car and drove on impulse to Highland, Virginia. Only to find the gates to the farm closed, with SOLD pasted over the FOR SALE sign. He turned around and drove directly back.

When Jack got to his apartment eight hours later, he was drained and disturbed. He didn't believe in signs, but somehow could neither explain nor rid himself of the startlingly deep disappointment brought on by his futile visit to Rainbow Creek Farm.

On Friday, the scheduled two-hour briefing with Joe turned into a ten-hour op run planning session with Joe and Marat, who had got back to the HQ a few days before. It turned out the Moscow Station needed to pick up two status update signals from the remaining two active Soviet agents—one in Moscow, the other in Leningrad—and it had been decided that Jack was the one to do both runs. The signal in Moscow was to be picked up and reported on only, in the afternoon of 29 May. The one in Leningrad was to be sighted and confirmed with a similar signal, a chalk sign at a different site, before midnight on 31 May.

He had promised Ennis he'd be in Leningrad for his performance on 30 May no matter what. So before leaving for America, Jack had made his application for a travel permit and had left instructions with the team assistant to buy him an overnight train ticket to Leningrad on 29 May. Of course he had also informed Nurimbekoff about his trip and its purpose.

That probably explained why they had decided that Jack was to do the run in Leningrad, instead of one of the three case officers at the Leningrad Station. But if they expected Jack to submit his report or do a debrief on the signal pick up immediately after the Moscow run, there was no way he would catch his train. Ennis's show would probably start at 7:30p.m., like most of the concerts in the Soviet Union. Which meant he had to take either a train or airplane to Leningrad by noon 30 May at the latest.

Jack pushed his anxiety about the possibility of being late or even missing Ennis's performance to the back of his mind and tried to concentrate on the details of the Moscow op run. And it was not until later in the afternoon, when the Leningrad part of the planning started, that Jack finally relaxed: another ticket had been purchased for him, for a fast train departing Moscow the following morning _and_ a reservation made for an Aeroflot flight to Leningrad departing at noon, just in case.

It was almost nine o'clock when Jack got back to town. He dropped off his rented car by the apartment block and walked to Du Pont Circle. There he walked into the first pay phone he saw and called LaShawn like he'd promised, hoping that she wouldn't be home. She wasn't. So he left a message on her answering machine, apologizing for not calling earlier, due to unexpected assignment at the office and bidding her goodbye in case he couldn't get hold of her the next day—his last day before returning back to the field. Then Jack bought a take away burger and coke and went back to his apartment.

Next morning he went out to buy himself a few things at the only western wear shop he knew in Georgetown, between N and O Streets. He was on his way out when the cowboy hats on the rack to the left of the door caught his eye. When he left the shop fifteen minutes later, a cream colored Stetson with a braided leather band was nestling between the denim shirts, jeans and woolen socks in the shopping bag.

He didn't know if Ennis wore hats, nor was he sure if cowboy hats were something considered an appropriate present in Russia. But he had his old black Stetson with him in Moscow, which he wore occasionally, and somehow it made the ranch idea seem like…

_Like a totally stupid idea! What the fuck have you been smoking lately, Twist?! _

He didn't have an answer to that, so he just brushed the question away.

In the end, he spent a small fortune on presents for all his Russian friends. His excuse was that Ennis couldn't be seen as the only person for whom he brought back gifts from America.

On Sunday, as he boarded the direct Pan Am flight to Moscow, a third of Jack's suitcase was occupied by presents: cosmetics from CVS for the girls at the Embassy, women magazines for Lara and perfume for her mother, silk shawls for Vera Mikhailovna and Anya, music video cassettes for Wings boys, a pair of Wrangler jeans for Anton.

And in his carry-on bag, carefully wrapped, were a vinyl record – Best of the Eagles – and a cowboy hat.


End file.
